


Brothers Under the Sun

by Timbira_Swift



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: (for everyone but Micah and we all know why), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur will Throw Down for each and every member of this gang, Arthur's Shitty Self-Esteem, Canon Compliant Up to the End of Chapter 5, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Happy Ending, Gang as a family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic/Brotherly Arthur and John, Protective Arthur, Spoilers for the whole game to be safe, This' gonna be a long one fellas, maybe a messed up one but a family, not ship-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-09-15 11:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timbira_Swift/pseuds/Timbira_Swift
Summary: Dutch and the rest of the boys escaping Guarma with their lives and finding what was left of the gang again was no less than a miracle. Still, tensions were rising as they attempted to eek out a chance at survival from Beaver Hollow. Arthur's heart was heavy with their losses - Sean, Kieran, Lenny and Hosea... and not one of them had any idea what had happened to John after he'd been arrested during the bank job in Saint Denis. With his recent diagnosis and the threat of his own mortality hanging over his head, he vows to do everything he can to make sure his family has a fighting chance without him, one way or another.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So this is my first time posting anything in quite a while, and my first time period on AO3 so apologies as I figure out how to work the system. The plan is for this to be a fairly long multi-chapter fic, and right now I'm going to tentatively say updates will be every other week. Let me know if you notice any mistakes, otherwise enjoy!

“Dutch! Where’s Dutch?” 

Arthur looked up from the buck he was skinning, wiping the sweat from his brow and turning. That was Javier’s voice, and Javier most certainly wasn’t one to get all excitable for no good reason. Sure enough, he spotted Boaz just as the horse skidded to a stop, well within camp. Javier all but leapt off Boaz’s back, the horse tossing his head and whinnying. His coat was frothed with sweat and Arthur frowned, quickly wiping his knife clean on a rag and slipping it into the sheathe hanging from his belt. Whatever had happened, Javier had damn near run Boaz into the ground to get back here. Arthur approached quickly, one of many to do so, but he didn’t pay the rest of them any attention as he pushed his way to the front of the group. Dutch had jogged over to meet Javier, his expression cold and hard. Clearly, he expected the worst. 

Javier had doubled over, resting his hands on his knees and panting just in front of Dutch.

“What is it son, what’s wrong?” Dutch demanded. His tone had Arthur twitching, his eyes narrowing slightly without even meaning to. He found himself doing that a lot these days as he listened to Dutch talk. Everything that’d happened since Hosea’s death – hell since Blackwater really – had changed Dutch to the point that some days Arthur couldn’t even recognize the man that’d all but raised him. The words had been right, but there was no actual concern in Dutch’s voice, just an edge of steel that Arthur hated. 

He was pulled from his thoughts when Javier straightened, and managed to pull in a deep enough breath to allow him to speak.

“Marston,” Javier forced out, meeting Dutch’s gaze. Arthur took an immediate small step forward, his eyes widening. They’d known John had been arrested in that shit storm of a bank robbery that drove them from Saint Denis. They’d all had to reconcile with the fact that odds were John had been hung; a painful addition to their list of dead. “He’s alive, Dutch. They have him in Sisika Penitentiary, off the coast of Saint Denis.”

“You’re _kidding_ me,” Dutch said, but Arthur couldn’t even focus on the lack of relief in his tone. Some unidentifiable emotion washed through him, and his first, instinctual reaction was to look toward his own horse hitched just outside of camp, figuring how quickly he’d be able to get her saddled and ready. John was his brother; no matter the spats they’d gotten into over the years, or whatever animosity still lingered between them, Arthur wasn’t going to leave him to rot in some prison.

“No, it’s true,” Javier confirmed, before his expression pinched and he hesitated. That caused Arthur to frown, already able to hear the unspoken ‘but’ coming. “There’s talk of hanging, though. Soon.”

Arthur felt his entire body tense, muscles locking up as anger seared through his veins.

“Hell,” Dutch’s muttered curse cut through all the other voices that’d shouted out in protest. Arthur met Dutch’s gaze squarely when it flicked to him, and then back to Javier, the man reaching up to smooth his beard. “Come on and tell me everything. Arthur; Micah.”

Arthur was already moving even before Dutch called to him, catching up to flank Dutch’s right within a few long strides. He didn’t bother allowing himself to acknowledge the aggravation that sparked whenever Dutch turned to Micah for counsel. It was becoming a more and more common occurrence. Now though, coming up with a plan to rescue John was more important than his misgivings. 

The four of them filed into Dutch’s tent, closing the flaps behind them for privacy. Dutch gave Javier the room to sit on the cot seeing as he was still winded. Javier raised one hand in a gesture of wordless appreciation as he sat. Arthur backed up to lean against a few crates stacked on the opposite side of the tent, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Javier intently. 

After resting for a brief moment, Javier sighed and started speaking, sweeping his hair back out of his face. He’d been down a little further south, near Van Horn, and he’d come across a caravan of Pinkertons. He’d started to book it, but’d stopped to listen in when he overheard a couple of the men discussing the gang. Arthur’s anger flared when Javier told them that one of those men had been in charge of John’s interrogation and eventual delivery to Sisika. The sick bastard had laughed when he’d told his companions that John was lucky to be considered for the noose so soon – that most of the island’s prisoners ended up begging for it.

“Something tells me ol’ Johnny Boy was squealing like a stuck pig even before the boat docked,” Micah sneered, and Arthur growled his eyes flashing as they shot over to Micah, though he kept himself otherwise still. Dutch wouldn’t be pleased if he wasted time laying Micah out, and he didn’t trust himself not to. 

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” he spat instead, scowling as Micah looked to him and arched an eyebrow.

“Oh come on,” Micah said, sweeping an arm out in a wide, demonstrative gesture. “Marston doesn’t exactly have the best track record. Who knows what he told them; they wouldn’t have dumped him if he hadn’t talked.”

“Cool it, you two,” Dutch warned, but Arthur just finally pushed himself off the crates, dropping his arms to his sides.

“Dutch,” he started, but before he could go any further Dutch had raised and appeasing hand. The gesture had him cutting himself off, his jaw clenching shut, and swallowing any remaining protests. Micah looked faintly amused that he’d let himself be silenced so easily, but Arthur pointedly ignored him, eyes still fixed on Dutch’s. There were a few moments of tense silence before Arthur forced himself to take a deep breath – or as deep of one as his lungs allowed, really – and changed tactics. 

“How do you want to run this?” he asked instead, not bothering to hide the terse tone his voice had taken. “I don’ know enough ‘bout this Penitentiary to say whether a big crew or a small one would be better.”

“Let’s…not get ahead of ourselves,” Dutch said after another beat’s hesitation. His expression had hardened again, his eyes almost shrewd as he glanced between each of them. Arthur froze perfectly still, his eyes narrowing.

“You ain’t sayin’…” Arthur couldn’t even finish the thought in his head, much less out loud. John was Dutch’s golden boy – his shining protégé. His son in all but blood. Even after John had up and abandoned them for an entire damn year, Dutch had still welcomed him back with open arms. Dutch wouldn’t cut someone loose like that; that wasn’t how they worked. And he especially wouldn’t do that to John of all people. 

“I don’t like it any more than you, son,” Dutch started, tone apologetic and almost too persuasive. “But we’ve already got our feet close enough to the fire as it is. We have to be careful. We have to do this right. This isn’t the right time to be-,”

“They’re going to damn well _hang_ him!”

Arthur’s anger exploded out of him in a shout that had Dutch taking a small step back and frowning. Arthur grimaced, turning his head to the side as the force of his exclamation made his chest seize painfully, and a short series of coughs to wrack his body. He grimaced, taking a moment to calm his breathing. The tent was silent as he did so, at least until Dutch sighed. 

“As they would _every one of us_ , given the opportunity.”

Dutch’s voice was almost quiet with that. Sad. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and focused pointedly on breathing through the pain in his chest and not on the conflicting emotions that crashed through him. Logically, he supposed Dutch might have a point, but his heart was even less convinced. John was his _brother_. 

“We have to make sure we know enough. That we’re ready enough. Now isn’t the time to go shootin’ from the hip, Arthur,” Dutch said eventually, and though he’d opened his eyes, Arthur kept his jaw clenched and didn’t make a single sound in response. Dutch hesitated for a few beats before looking away from him and back to Javier, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. “You did well, Javier. Get something to eat and rest – and make sure that horse is taken care of. I promise you I will look into this, and we’ll do whatever we can for John.”

Javier didn’t offer much of a response either, though he looked more resigned and resolute than angry. Arthur watched him give a short nod and then push himself to his feet, slipping out of the tent.

“I don’t think it’s that much of a loss, really. Marston was always dead weight half the time, and unpredictable bordering on unreliable the other half,” Micah said mildly, and Arthur whirled around, hands clenched into fists. The only thing that kept Arthur from doing his damnedest to break Micah’s jaw was the iron grip Dutch had gotten around his wrist, holding him back. Damn Dutch for knowing him too well.

“Micah get the hell out,” Dutch snapped, though he sounded exasperated instead of annoyed. Arthur couldn’t even get satisfaction out of watching Micah raise both hands in an appeasing gesture and slinking out of the tent.

Once the flaps fell back shut, Arthur jerked his wrist out of Dutch’s grip, the older man just giving a long, heavy sigh.

“We’s family, Dutch,” Arthur said quietly after a few long moments, watching as Dutch sat back on his cot and rubbed his eyes with both hands. “We don’ _leave_ family to hang in some shithole prison. Just in the last few weeks we’ve lost Lenny, and Sean, and Kieran. We lost _Hosea_. Last thing I wanna do is lose John too.”

“You think I do?” Dutch’s voice was harsh, demanding, but no louder than Arthur’s had been.

It still made Arthur flinch, looking away.

Even before this sickness had started whittling away at his strength bit by bit, when he’d had the muscle to back up the breadth of his shoulders and he’d been built in a way that had people skittering out of his path before he even bothered to draw a gun, a heated glance or a sharp word from Dutch had always been enough to make him feel small.

When Micah had first joined the gang back in Blackwater, he’d made the mistake of comparing Arthur to a well-heeled dog. Arthur had made sure the broken nose and blackened eye he’d left the other man with served as enough of a warning. An itch in the back of his mind had always been afraid that the comment hit a little too close to home, and especially in recent weeks he’d found himself thinking of the incident again. He’d always told himself that it was loyalty – no less than Dutch deserved for everything the man had done for him. Recently though, as his frame had started to become leaner, and his face almost gaunt, Arthur had keenly noticed that Dutch had taken to calling on his ‘loyalty’ less and less. 

Jobs that he’d have been heading without questions a few months ago now went to Micah, or Javier, or Charles, or Bill. Dutch had noticed his irritation – because of course he had – and had pulled him aside. He’d gently explained that he was just concerned for Arthur’s health, that he didn’t want to push him too hard. His protests had seen Dutch relent, but even still his responsibilities were a trickle of what they had been. Arthur couldn’t help wondering if that week or so of irrational paranoia after Blackwater, when Dutch had been convinced that even _Arthur_ would end up betraying him, had reared its head again. 

“I need you to trust me, son.” Dutch’s gentle squeeze to his shoulder had Arthur shaking himself from his thoughts, his body losing its tension without his express permission. 

“Y’know I do,” Arthur said, relenting before he’d even truly thought about it.

“Now’s not the time to go barging through a State Penitentiary on a rescue mission,” Dutch continued, and Arthur numbly felt himself nod. “You’ve got that lead you’re heading out to follow up on. That homestead up in the mountains?” Dutch pressed for a response again, and again Arthur nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out while you’re gone, try to come up with a plan. We’ll talk about this again when you get back. Now,” Dutch finally released his shoulder and his tone changed entirely. “Who were you planning to take with you?”

“Mrs. Adler,” Arthur answered automatically, still more preoccupied with his thoughts.

It was at least a three-day ride up to the poorly guarded homestead in the mountains that a trader out of Van Horn swore up and down was home to a virtual fortune made on pelts. He’d claimed that it was almost completely deserted this time of year, only a few men remaining to ride out the winter with the gold. Now, _just_ before the cold and snow started to set in, was the perfect opportunity to hit it. Depending on the weather, he’d be gone at least a week, maybe more. He couldn’t ignore the gnawing fear that by the time he’d returned, and Dutch had concocted one of his plans, that John would already be swinging from the gallows. 

“Alright son?” Dutch asked, leaning closer. He must have been thinking too long. Arthur made himself nod, despite the uncomfortable lump that had built in his throat. This wasn’t right. The lot of them should be riding out immediately, not sitting and waiting. Even so, when he managed to speak it was only to voice an agreement, his gaze pinned on the ground.

“Yeah, alright.”

“That’s my boy.” Dutch flashed him a wide, reassuring smile. “It’ll work out better this way, you’ll see. Just have a little faith.”

Arthur’s only response was another nod. He turned to exit the tent, but stopped short just before he did, his expression hardening. “This ain’t because you still think John was the one to set us up in Saint Denis.”

“Shit Arthur!” Dutch’s voice was outraged now, but Arthur didn’t turn around, and he didn’t allow himself to flinch. “Of course not!”

“Alright,” Arthur repeated tonelessly, pushing out of the tent before Dutch could say anything else.

He wasn’t able to go more than a handful of steps before Abigail was rushing toward him, hope and fear in equal measure on her face. He immediately held out both hands in front of him to stop her from doing something like embracing him before he explained. She most certainly wouldn’t want to after. He grimaced when both of her hands just wrapped around his forearms in an unshakable grip, her eyes searching out his.

“Arthur…” she started, and Arthur had to pull in a deep breath to prepare himself for this. He was acutely aware of Abigail’s pleading gaze; of the others that had carefully eased closer to listen in. “Arthur, you’re going to get him back? You’re going to save him?”

“Abigail…” Arthur said quietly, unable to get anything else out past the lump that’d reformed in his throat. He closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. He hated himself when that was enough for Abigail to release his arms like they’d burned her. Dutch wasn’t the one that had to do _this_. He heard indistinct muttering around him from the others as he reopened his eyes, forcing himself to find Abigail’s again. Her expression had changed to one of horror. Disbelief. He gave another small shake of his head as he explained. “Dutch says it’s ‘not the right time’. Said he’d keep looking into it.”

“But they’re gonna…” Abigail started, her brow creasing. She sounded almost like she was confused; like they had forgotten to consider that part. Pain seared through Arthur’s chest that he didn’t think had anything to do with sickness as he took a sudden step back, moving to walk past Abigail with his eyes already on his own tent. 

“I don’t know,” he said gruffly as we went around her, pretending he didn’t feel a half-dozen pairs of eyes following him.

He sat heavily once he reached his cot, burying his head in his hands for a moment before sliding them up to scrub through his hair. He left them there as he tried to sort through his thoughts, at least until he stiffened with the approach of light footsteps.

“So if springing Marston ain’t on the agenda, am I to assume we’re still heading up into the mountains tomorrow?” Sadie asked, stopping just a few feet shy of him if he had to guess. There was a clearly identifiable edge to her voice – she wasn’t happy. Ignoring that for the time being, Arthur just dropped his hands so his forearms were braced against his knees, looking past her toward camp instead of up at her directly.

“Yep,” he said, keeping his own voice empty. He finally looked up and met her gaze when he heard her scoff, arching an eyebrow when he saw that she’d crossed her arms over her chest and was scowling at him. “Something you’d like to say?”

Idly, he wondered how many more times he was going to have to defend Dutch’s plan, even when he didn’t necessarily agree with it himself. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d done so. Dutch had raised him with the expectation that as far as the gang were concerned, the three of them – Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur – were always a united front. Even when Dutch and Hosea found themselves arguing it was always behind closed doors with few aside from Arthur, and maybe John, being privy to their shouting matches. Arthur was well used to keeping his opinions to himself in this sense. Only this time, it seemed to be proving a hell of a lot harder than it usually did.

“Yeah sure I do,” Sadie said shortly, taking a step closer and making Arthur sigh and hang his head. “This ‘plan’ is a load of horse shit and you know it. If it was any one of us, Marston wouldn’t be sitting on his ass.”

“Dutch knows what he’s doing,” Arthur countered, pushing himself to his feet and wishing desperately he was as confident in that fact as he sounded. “We’ll do this job, and when we get back he’ll know more and he’ll have a plan. Decision’s been made.”

“Well excuse me for thinking it’s a stupid one,” Sadie shot back, and Arthur felt his shoulders slump before he could force them not to. “By that time they’ll have him hanging.”

“For all we know they already do,” Arthur said, watching as that made her jaw snap shut and her eyes flash with anger. He pointedly ignored the knot that had formed in his own gut.

“Even so, I’d feel better about myself if I knew I’d tried. We’d just turn south tomorrow instead of toward the mountains. Dutch wouldn’t even know till after.”

Arthur frowned at that, taking his own step forward to stare Sadie down pointedly. “We’re goin’ to rob that homestead, we’re comin’ back with a score that’ll keep us all supplied for ‘nother few weeks, and then we’ll do what we can for Marston,” he said, making sure he spoke slowly and clearly. He’d leave Sadie behind and take someone else if he had to, though he’d much rather not. His luck, she’d go off after Marston on her own in that case.

Thankfully, however, Sadie just took a step back and raised both hands between them in surrender, even if her expression was still cold. “If that’s what you want, Arthur,” she said as she turned away.

Arthur felt his expression pinch as his gaze followed her retreat. That was not what he wanted. That was what Dutch expected – demanded – of him. He would follow Dutch straight into hell if the other man asked it of him; the argument could be made that he already had, on multiple occasions. Still though, when he flicked his gaze up in time to see Mrs. Grimshaw ushering a spitting-mad Abigail away from Dutch’s tent, he found himself questioning.

To keep his mind occupied and his hands busy into the evening, Arthur packed his saddlebags and his satchel, double checking that they’d have everything they’d need to get through questionable weather in the mountains. He cleaned each of his guns meticulously and sharpened his blade. That done, he ventured across camp and ladled himself a bowl of stew almost as an afterthought – he’d found himself struggling to remember to be hungry recently. And then, once he’d run out of things to do and camp had settled into its nightly rituals around him, he pulled out his journal and flipped to the next empty page.

He’d hoped that writing down his thoughts – his doubts and his struggles – would help to make sense of the jumbled mess in his head. He wrote by dim lamp light as camp quieted and settled around him. By the time that unexpected footsteps approaching pulled his attention away, he’d filled two pages and was no less conflicted than he had been when he’d started. 

He stiffened when he glanced up and saw that the footsteps belonged to Abigail. She stopped short once she saw she had his attention, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. For a few long moments, it seemed they were content just to stare at each other. 

Arthur wasn’t sure what he should say, what reassurance he could offer that wouldn’t sound hollow and empty to them both. Abigail’s face was expressionless, her eyes red-rimmed but no longer holding any emotion. At long last, she was the one to break the uneasy silence, her gaze not straying from his.

“You’re the only one I can ask.” Her voice was soft, carrying none of the anger or frustration Arthur would have expected, having known her so long. “The only one I would trust, the only one capable, the only one even willing to _think_ about going against Dutch.”

“Abigail-,” Arthur started shaking his head, the warning clear in his tone. She should know better. 

“If you can’t bring yourself to do it for John,” Abigail continued over him as if he hadn’t even spoke, her tone unchanging. “If doing it for me isn’t enough justification, then do it for Jack.” For the first time her voice wavered and Arthur looked away sharply, letting out a long exhale through his nose as his jaw clenched. “For the first time we were a _family_ those few weeks at Shady Bell. Jack deserves to have his father. If nothing else, I beg you to think of that.”

Any response Arthur could have given that lodged itself firmly in his throat. Before he could manage to rectify it, she had turned and walked back across camp to the ladies’ group of tents without another word. Arthur stared after her for an uncomfortably long time.

When he finally looked away, he stood and mechanically went through the motions of getting ready to sleep; slipping his journal into his satchel, blowing out the lamp, and laying down. 

His chest quaked with a series of ragged-sounding coughs as he settled. It was a nightly occurrence now, even if every cough drilled another sliver of dread into his heart. Forcing himself to ignore it as best he was able, he threaded his fingers together over his stomach and closed his eyes.

Generally, Arthur was able to find sleep easily. That night, however, it eluded him. By the time that the first signs of dawn broke the horizon, he thought he might have managed a few restless hours, but no more than that. And despite how hard he’d tried to bury his doubts, he was still warring with himself.

**~**

The sigh he gave as he swung his legs out of bed was enough to wring harsh, barking coughs from his chest as his lungs struggled to clear themselves after lying prone for so long. The sound almost seemed to echo in the stillness of camp, and with no one around to see, Arthur allowed himself to grimace, pressing one hand firmly against the center of his chest. As if that would help against the disease intent on ravaging his body.

It took him a few minutes to get his breathing to even out enough that he felt comfortable standing.

Once he had, he stubbornly pushed every thought concerning the episode out of his mind, going through the familiar motions of getting dressed. His hat was the last thing settled into place, his satchel already hanging against his hip. The familiar weight of his gun belt was a comfort, and he shouldered both of his rifles and his saddlebags before moving to leave his tent.

He took his time feeding and brushing out Canyon’s coat in the soft, pre-dawn light, checking each of her hooves before hefting his saddle onto her back. Her ears pricked when he did so, and Arthur allowed himself a small smile, reaching up to rub between the mare’s ears before lightly trailing his hand down her mane and neck.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured under his breath, before shaking himself and returning his attention to the saddle.

It was no more than a few minutes before he spotted Sadie approaching with her own saddle, tipping her hat to him wordlessly as she passed to get to her own horse.

Arthur finished saddling Canyon quickly, having lost his casual, relaxed attitude from the peaceful morning. He hitched Canyon’s reins once she was ready, patting her once before venturing over near Pearson’s wagon. He wasn’t hungry so much as he wanted coffee, but he snagged a few hard biscuits out of the tin after filling his cup more out of habit than anything else.

He wandered slowly back over to the horses, leaning heavily against the hitching post and savoring the warmth from his coffee as he waited for Sadie.

The sound of creaking leather and a bridled horse tossing its head drew his gaze up a few minutes later, and he nodded to himself when he saw that Sadie had settled into her saddle atop Bob’s back and had turned her gaze to him expectantly.

Arthur pulled one more sip from his cup before slinging it to the side to empty it of any remaining liquid. It was one smooth, practiced motion to throw the reins over Canyon’s neck and pull himself up and into the saddle. He settled easily and rolled his shoulders before turning Canyon’s head toward the path out of camp and clicked his tongue softly. She took off at a brisk, easy trot, navigating the rocky slope with no trouble. Arthur could hear Sadie trailing not far behind.

It seemed the both of them were content to travel the path in silence, neither so much as making a sound. This camp was farther from a road than any of the others had been recently, so Arthur’s mind had plenty of time to run through all manner of last-second doubts and misgivings. As the road finally came into view ahead of them, the well-worn grooves from carts and carriages still shrouded in shadow from the early morning sun, Arthur found himself unconsciously pulling Canyon back. His mouth was set into a hard frown and out of the corner of his vision he could see that Sadie had slowed to match him, her expression surprised but hesitant to hope. Arthur just turned his attention back to the road, glancing both directions briefly before closing his eyes and bracing his hands on the swell of his saddle, on either side of the horn.

To turn left would take him up into the mountains, to the money Dutch swore they so desperately needed. Going right would lead him south, and – god willing – to John before they had a chance to hang him.

Giving his head a sharp shake, Arthur’s eyes snapped open and he spurred Canyon’s sides with no warning, causing her to snort; her ears pinning as she launched forward.

“God _damn_ you Marston,” Arthur swore under his breath, the wind stealing his words as he turned Canyon south and loosened his hold on the reins enough to give the mare her head. Her neck extended as her strides lengthened, until they were all but flying. He kept her along the edge of the road itself to avoid the gouges dug by countless carts’ wheels. Loosely packed dirt spit up into the air in their wake. “You son of a bitch.”

He heard Sadie give a shout behind him, triumphant. He ignored the sound, feeling the ground shake as she spurred her horse to match Canyon. Side by side the two of them thundered through the thin growth of trees, birds scattering with their approach.

“Knew ya’d change your mind!” Sadie had to shout over the wind and the sound of the horses’ hooves to be heard. “Y’re a good man, Arthur Morgan!”

“Don’t be goin’ that far!” Arthur shouted back, grimacing as the strain on his lungs. He scowled when Sadie just laughed at him. His response was to nudge Canyon even faster, easily outstripping Bob and leaving Sadie squawking in their wake. Arthur reached down and pressed his hand against Canyon’s shoulder, feeling the muscle bunch and release in a steady rhythm. “Good girl,” he murmured, leaning forward in the saddle to take some of his weight off her back. This was gonna be a long ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it for the first chapter! Feel free to let me know what you think, I welcome and adore any and all feedback. Until next time ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! After all the positive feedback, I decided to go ahead and post this one early, so here's chapter two! Enjoy~

“Dare I ask about a plan?” Sadie questioned the first time they slowed below a lope, watering the horses at a small creek and giving them a few minutes’ rest. “We gonna head all the way south to Saint Denis? Try to find a boat to rent in Van Horn?”

Arthur hummed low in his throat, sharp eyes scanning across the map he’d unfolded in his lap. It just figured that Marston had gone and found himself on an _island_ penitentiary. As if this wasn’t already gonna be difficult enough. He quickly tried to figure out their options, weighing each one carefully. They needed to be discreet, first and foremost. He could probably get away with sending Sadie into a town for provisions or information, but he wasn’t going to risk stepping foot in one himself. If the Pinkertons, or the law got wind that they were planning to try anything, they’d likely hang John on the spot. Luckily, Arthur had – at the very least – the beginnings of a promising plan.

“Know a feller down in Lagras,” he said eventually, making Sadie perk up with interest. “Might be able to convince him t’let us borrow a boat and keep the horses. Heard ‘em talking once ‘bout a lil waterway through the bayou out to the big river that’s just deep enough to pass with a small boat during the wet season. Nothin’ concrete though.”

“A little somethin’s better than nothing,” Sadie pointed out, and Arthur gave an absent nod, beginning to fold up his map. In response, Sadie reached down and took Bob’s reins in hand, the horse’s head popping up in the next moment.

“We’re gonna camp on the outskirts of Van Horn tonight,” Arthur said in lieu of an actual response, stretching his back with a groan before reaching down for his reins as well. He grinned when Canyon moved into an easy trot across the creek to where the road continued on the other side without needing any sort of prompting once he’d done so. “I’ma send you into town for some supplies. Keep your head down, blend in. If anyone asks, you’re headed west.”

“Yes, _boss_ ,” Sadie rolled her eyes but Arthur snorted and in no way took her seriously. For the moment the horses were content to match each other in a slow lope. “We already packed for a week-long job, and be in Lagras tomorrow night. What d’you think we’ll need?”

“We’ll likely need to scout the island for at least a day; both to find him and to come up with a plan, Arthur said gruffly, his eyes directed to the horizon. “Presumin’ we don’t get shot or arrested ourselves, that we find Marston, _and_ have an opportunity to steal him away-,”

“Way to stack the deck against us,” Sadie muttered, but Arthur just continued as if she hadn’t spoken, his voice matter-of-fact.

“He’s likely to be in a bad way; we know the Pinkertons had him interrogated and I doubt they were very gentle. I don’t have the medical supplies handy to make sure nothin’ goes septic and he kicks it on us after we go through all this trouble.”

“Suppose that’s fair,” Sadie shrugged a nod, and Arthur snorted.

“And that’s not even considerin’ that it’ll prolly take us three times as long to get back, between Marston and how many times I’ll want to double back to make sure we can’t be tracked. Once they know he’s gone, we’ll have dogs and who knows what else on our heels.”

“Nothin’ we can’t handle.”

Arthur could only wish he had her confidence. Hell, he still carried a weight in his gut just from anticipating Dutch’s reaction when they showed back up with John. With how unpredictable Dutch had been lately, he couldn’t convince himself that Dutch wouldn’t shoot them personally.

**~**

Arthur pulled Canyon up and to a halt for the final time that night when he could just barely make out the lights of Van Horn on their side of the horizon.

He swung himself out of the saddle and wordlessly moved to take her bedroll and the saddlebag she indicated, before stepping back to give her room to spur Bob into a gallop again, turned toward the lights in the distance. While she was scrounging up the medical supplies he asked for, along with an extra bedroll, he set about pulling together their camp for the night. 

He’d chosen the top of a grassy knoll a way’s off the road for their camp, ensuring that they had an unobstructed view in every direction in case of unwelcome visitors. By the time she returned and slid out of her own saddle, Arthur had both their bedrolls laid out around a small fire, a can of beans nestled in the embers to warm, and a freshly skinned rabbit roasting.

“You sure do know how to treat a lady, don’t you Morgan?” Sadie nudged his shoulder with her hip as she passed him, her voice a teasing drawl. Arthur gave the smallest of grins despite himself, tipping the brim of his hat in her direction as he prodded the small fire with a stick.

“Unfortunately Mrs. Adler, most ladies don’t take as kindly as yourself to lukewarm beans straight from the tin, charred rabbit, and a lumpy bedroll,” Arthur said modestly, some of the tension he’d been carrying since the night before starting to ease. It felt _good_ to be able to casually snark at his companion, even as they faced down what promised to be a complete shit show. It was one of the reasons he’d found himself preferring Sadie’s company on jobs if he had the luxury of a choice. Most of the other men tended to keep themselves gruff and focused. Arthur found it exhausting.

“Well shit, most ladies don’t know what they’re missing!” Sadie dropped unceremoniously to sit on her bedroll with a thump, easily catching the canteen Arthur tossed her. Arthur snorted to that, shaking his head as he reached forward the check the rabbit. He could admit he had a habit of allowing the meat to char a bit _too_ long.

“Everything go alright in town?” He changed the subject easily, glancing up to her. He assumed that she would have mentioned and trouble, but it didn’t hurt to check. He relaxed further when she gave an immediate snort and shake of her head, patting her satchel. 

“Not so much as a weird glance my way,” she promised and Arthur nodded in approval. “I even managed to suss out a lil information about Sisika. Played the doe-eyed sister to a recently incarcerated brother.”

“They fall for that?” Arthur asked, unable to help the way his tone had grown guarded. Sadie just rolled her eyes at him though.

“Of course,” she scoffed, reaching forward to snag the can of beans out of the embers, scooping some out on the flat edge of her blade. “Whole island is a farm, prisoners work it in chain gangs. Figure that’ll make it a little easier to get a hold of Marston quiet-like.”

“With luck,” Arthur said, pulling the rabbit off the fire and taking his knife to it. He wasn’t exactly optimistic that luck would be on their side.

They both ate, and then settled back on their bedrolls for the night. Sadie was content to roll over and begin snoring near-instantly, which just made Arthur snort as he pulled out his journal. He only wrote for a few short minutes by the light of the slowly dying fire. Then, he absently doodled one of the prairie dogs he caught poking its head out of the tall grasses on the page opposite.

Little feller was kinda cute.

After he was satisfied with the prairie dog’s likeness, he gave in and laid back as well, closing his eyes as he willed himself to sleep.

**~**

They rode hard all through the next day, finally slowing as they entered Lagras just as the moon was rising. Arthur stopped Canyon just outside Thomas’ house, already having spotted the aging trapper out near the end of the docks.

“Let me do the talking,” Arthur muttered under his breath as Sadie fell in behind him after they’d slid off their horses. For once, Sadie didn’t seem about to argue.

Thomas glanced up as the sound of their boots on the wooden dock, his face showing recognition before he stood from his crouch and raised a hand in greeting.

“Mr. Arthur!” he said warmly, and Arthur gave an easy grin as he shook the offered hand once he was close enough. “I’m glad to see you well. We heard some nasty business outta Saint Denis ‘bout you boys.”

“Aw, thank ya Thomas. Our exit from the city was…less’n graceful.”

Sadie snorted at the understatement, drawing Thomas’ attention to her. Arthur stepped to the side to introduce her properly.

“This’ Mrs. Sadie Adler, another of my associates.”

“Mrs. Sadie,” Thomas greeted with a grin and a quick half-bow before he looked back to Arthur. “To what does this humble boatman owe the pleasure?”

“You’ll forgive us for comin’ callin’ so late, we rode down from Van Horn this morning,” Arthur started, watching as that earned him a look that was both surprised and impressed. “In truth, I need to ask a favor. Now I know you don’t owe me none, and I’m more’n willing to pay you for your trouble.”

“You did all us ‘round here a favor when you dealt with that Bronte feller. What’chu need Mr. Arthur?” Thomas asked, moving to sit on top of one of the crates lining the dock. Arthur felt himself breathe a little easier, nodding his thanks as he continued.

“You might remember a John Marston from that night you took us all in to Bronte,” he said, continuing again when Thomas tipped his head to the side in a nod. “He went and got himself picked up by the law in that nasty business in Saint Denis. They’ve got him out on Sisika, set to hang. Now I don’t wanna go gettin’ you involved in our trouble, but I remember somethin’ about a seasonal pass from here through to the Lannahechee. If you’d be willing to lend a boat to me ‘n Mrs. Adler here, and allow our horses to stay ‘till our return, I’d be most deeply in your debt.”

Thomas gave a considering hum, shifting and seeming to study Arthur for a brief moment. Then, however, he shrugged a nod and Arthur felt the tension slither out of his shoulders, relief flooding through him instead.

“Don’t see why not,” Thomas said, pushing himself to his feet and waving for them to follow him to a different area of the docks. “Dozens of boats going in and out all over this swamp; impossible to trace any one to a specific place. There’s an abandoned shack a way’s north. When you get back you can unload there, bring the boat back and fetch the horses.”

“Thank you kindly,” Arthur said sincerely, reaching forward to shake Thomas’ hand again. As he did he fished through his satchel with the other hand, pulling out a modest stack of cash and pressing it into Thomas’ palm before he could pull away. “F’r your trouble, and the same when we get back.”

“Appreciated,” Thomas said, giving a small nod and grin, before gesturing to a small skiff they’d stopped near. “Take this when you’re ready. Water mists at night, no one’ll see you if you head out now. That pass you talkin’ about is up to the north east across this lake here. Leave your horses hitched out front, I’ll have Jules get them fed and watered in one of the sheds.”

“Thank you,” Arthur repeated, not sure what else he could offer but still wanting to say _something_. 

“Somethin’ tells me y’all are good friends to have in a pinch, Mr. Arthur,” Thomas said wisely, nodding to both him and Sadie. “Luck to you both.”

Arthur turned and watched Thomas leave, before resting both hands on his gun belt and hanging his head as he gave it a small shake.

“Y’okay Arthur?” Sadie asked, looking up to him. She already had one foot in the skiff while the other stayed braced on the dock. Her gaze was expectant and Arthur just grunted, raising a hand to wave off her concern.

“Jus’… ‘bout damn time somethin’ went our way for once,” he muttered, unsure whether he’d intended Sadie to hear the words or not. Either way, he didn’t give her a chance to respond, clearing his throat and jerking his thumb back over his shoulder in the direction of where they’d left the horses. “We got everything we need?”

“Think so,” Sadie said, and Arthur stepped down into the skiff as well, allowing her to push them off away from the dock while he settled and gathered the oars.

“Keep an eye on the water,” Arthur grunted as he started rowing, snorting when Sadie arched one eyebrow in his direction. “Th’ gators out here are mean lil bastards. Had to go swimmin’ with ‘em last time, don’t want a repeat experience.”

“Okay Arthur,” Sadie said with a chuckle. Her voice was placating but Arthur didn’t mind, shooting her a grin of his own.

The island seemed a hell of a lot farther out when he was rowing than it had when he’d looked at it on the map. His arms ached with the exertion but he ignored it, keeping them moving at a steady pace across the water. He didn’t want to take too long and lose the cover of the mists that clung to the surface of the water.

“I count three watchtowers,” Sadie’s voice lowered as they neared the island, moving to crouch near him, her eyes still scanning the coastline. “No big lights though; we should be okay. No guards on the shore that I can see neither.”

Arthur grunted his understanding. “Direct me to the densest patch of marsh you see. We need to be able to hide the boat.”

“Little growth of mangroves bit further down to your right.”

Arthur nodded, carefully changing course. He slowed considerably as they neared the mangroves, glancing around over his shoulder when Sadie hopped out to guide him in. Between the two of them they managed to get the skiff wedged among the thick, snaking roots without making much noise at all. They used the rope to tether it even further back into the mangroves just in case, before the two of them snuck away from the shore and further inland so they could hide in the brush among the trees.

“Need to find us a place where we can watch the front of the prison where everyone comes and goes. We’ll take turns on watch so’s we both get some rest. Follow Marston out into the fields when we see ‘im. That way there won’t be too much guards to go through.” Arthur instructed under his breath, barely able to see Sadie’s nod in the moonlight that filtered down to them.

“Less of a chance of makin’ a commotion too,” she pointed out, and Arthur gave a quiet snort and tipped his head into a nod, carefully starting to pick his way forward.

“Las’ thing we need is a damn commotion.”

Arthur stayed in the lead, moving south in the direction of the looming stone building he could just make out through the trees. He held out a hand to his right to stop Sadie when their cover began to thin too much for his liking. They were still on the opposite side of the bridge from the prison itself, but he didn’t see a way for them to get any closer. He kept his eyes scanning the nearby paths, making sure there wasn’t anyone to worry about close by as he fished through his satchel for his binoculars.

He felt Sadie scoot closer to him, crouching right at his side, but he paid her no mind. Instead, he ensured that they’d be able to get a good enough look at the prison gate from here to know when they needed to move. He gave a quiet grunt as the focused in on the prison gate, and then got a good look at the guards patrolling along the upper walls.

“Count six up top at least. Rifles have sights on ‘em; no way to tell the range though,” Arthur said under his breath, looking up and handing the binoculars off to Sadie when she nudged him in the ribs.

“All the reason not to go any closer,” she said dryly, shifting and looking through the binoculars for herself. “I’ll take first watch, cowboy. You did all the work rowin’ us out here.”

“Suit yourself,” Arthur grunted, not about to argue. Dawn was a long ways off, and he doubted anything exciting would happen before then. “I’ma sit myself behind this big tree over here, should keep me outta sight in case of anyone wanderin’.”

Sadie gave a wordless nod of understanding, her face still buried in the binoculars. Arthur sighed, trying vainly not to be worried by the intensity of her expression.

He moved to sit up against the trunk of the tree facing the opposite direction. He brought one leg up, hiding the hand that rested on the grip of his revolver from passersby. He gave a grunt and did his best to muffle a short series of coughs as he settled, and then leaned his head back against the tree. Slowly the tightness in his chest loosened, and once it had he reached up to pull the brim of his hat down over his eyes as he closed them. He had to coach himself through evening out his breathing and relaxing his muscles, one part of his body at a time. He doubted true sleep would be easy to come by – he was technically in the middle of a State Penitentiary after all. Idly he wondered if getting himself caught here meant he could collect his own bounty.

Damn Marston and his shit luck, always needing rescuing.

Arthur managed a light doze at the very least, though his awareness expanded and his hand tightened around his revolver at every sound of movement from the underbrush. Even so, it was only ever Sadie shifting her position or some small, foraging rodent. If he had to guess he’d say it was around mid-morning when he gave up, fixing his hat and stretching his back with a muffled grumble. Sleeping sitting against a tree for a night may have been hell on his back, but at least his lungs weren’t clogged up with blood and infection like they usually were. Small mercies he supposed.

“Anything?” he asked gruffly as he moved back up to crouch beside Sadie, keeping his voice low. His eyes scanned the surrounding fields, uneasy. There were far more guards about now, and sections of each field were being tended by groups of six men in striped prison uniforms. They were always shackled and chained to one another about the waist, which didn’t seem to have a positive impact on their productivity. Each of the chain gangs was accompanied by a pair of armed guards, one mounted and one on foot. There also seemed to be some other guards that just floated between the fields and groups. Arthur felt a weight grow heavy in his gut. “Looks like a tight ship.”

“Only looks like it,” Sadie said, passing him the binoculars and sitting back for herself, resting an arm over her knee. She continued with a small snort at Arthur’s questioning glance. “The guards’re lazy and stupid. Inmates act like they’re too exhausted and wary to try anything. Only real trouble far as I can see are those bastards that roam around with the whips.”

Arthur’s brow creased as he adopted a deep frown, lifting the binoculars. He found one of the floating guards to focus on, and sure enough, there was a coiled bull whip hanging innocently from his belt.

“The _hell_ …” Arthur muttered, quickly moving the binoculars to another of those guards; this time watching as he approached one of the chain gangs. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but the guard looked like he was yelling, making gestures with both hands that looked like he wanted the prisoners to speed up. One of the prisoners jerked his head around and spat some response. And as Arthur watched the guard yanked the whip free of his belt and lashed it down over the man’s back. The other men chained to the poor fool skittered away as best they could to avoid being in the line of fire while ensuring that _they_ didn’t stop working. The two chained in front of and behind him weren’t entirely successful.

The guard landed somewhere around half a dozen lashes before deftly coiling his whip and moving on as if nothing had happened. 

“Jesus…”

“Yeah I know.” Sadie’s voice and expression had both darkened and she directed a venomous glare at the prison’s main building. “Before you ask though; no. No sign of Marston.”

Arthur muttered a curse, moving the binoculars to scan across the chain gangs in each of the fields for himself.

“There’s one more group they have working further out behind us. Not sure what they’re doing, but Marston wasn’t in that one either.” Sadie said as she sifted through her satchel and come back with a bag of jerky. Arthur made a quiet sound of understanding, continuing to look around. 

“Might have the groups working in shifts,” he offered after a fair few minutes, glancing to Sadie in time to see her shrug. “Or they might not work every prisoner every day. Just have to wait and see.”

Neither of them mentioned the third option: that Marston was no longer here. Or worse, that he’d already hung. At least, not out loud. Arthur was painfully aware of both, no matter how stubbornly he refused to consider them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh, and there we have it.
> 
> Finally managed to get some use out of that degree in History, researching chain gangs and prisons at the turn of the century for cowboy fanfiction! Also, I only realized _after_ writing more than half of the story that though there are a few places where it comes close, there isn't _actually_ a place in game where the swamp/lake near Lagras connects to the river... However, living basically in a swamp myself for my entire life tells me there's an 80% chance that in the wet season, when the water rises 3-4 feet at least, there's gonna be _somewhere_ a little boat could get through easy enough. Artistic liberties? Canon divergence? Either way, I hope that works well enough. Until next time!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Here we go with the third chapter, where we finally get to John! 
> 
> Just as a heads up, I'm traveling for the holidays and I'm not sure that I'll be able to post next week or not. If I don't chapter four will be up the week after. I hope everyone has a safe and happy Holiday Season and a Happy New Year!

Throughout the day, Arthur and Sadie traded off a few more times, neither speaking much at all. The chain gangs did not work in shifts, as it turned out, the groups that’d been in the fields that morning not being allowed to shuffle back into the prison until half of the sun had already been swallowed by the horizon. Arthur finally got a glimpse of the last chain gang working in the back section when they trudged past, coming closer to their hiding spot than anyone else had thus far. Arthur was sure he and Sadie both barely dared to breathe while they passed, but his eyes still narrowed when he saw the state those men were in. 

Half of them were just barely able to remain upright, much less keep up with the chains pulling them forward. Only two had been able to bear keeping their shirts on throughout the heat of the day, and Arthur saw more whip lashes across their backs than he’d seen on most of the other groups combined. He waited until they’d passed a safe distance before he stood and moved, keeping himself low and following the path the chain gang had walked as closely as he could and still remain in cover. When he returned almost fifteen minutes later, he offered Sadie a sharp, one-word explanation. 

“Quarry.”

The night almost seemed longer than the day had. The whole island was unnaturally quiet, unnaturally still. Arthur had plenty of time to contemplate how many times Dutch would shoot him if he came back to camp without _anything_ to show for his escapade – money, or John. His running estimate was four, and that was only if he could count on Dutch still liking him at least a little bit, deep down somewhere.

When Sadie came up to him just before dawn, clearly agitated and restless, and asked to switch watch early, Arthur offered her the binoculars without a word. He wasn’t generally one for sitting around waiting for more than twenty-four hours either, but it looked like he had a better handle on himself than she did, at least for the time being. If giving her the illusion of having something to do helped, he was more than willing to do that than let her go stir crazy.

Still though, he was too twitchy to do anything other than rest with his eyes closed, fighting not to fidget and make noise. He noticed, but pointedly didn’t draw attention to, the realization that his cough had been markedly better and his chest hadn’t ached with the absence of any strenuous activity.

“Shit – hey, I think that’s him.”

Arthur was already moving as soon as he heard Sadie’s voice about an hour after dawn, even without the small rock she tossed in his direction. She hadn’t even bothered to look around as she threw it, and Arthur grunted when the rock bounced harmlessly off his upper arm. He waited until he was crouched beside Sadie to snag the binoculars from her, ignoring her scowl and pointing them in the direction she indicated. He let out a long, slow breath as he studied each face that made up the chain gang shuffling across the bridge toward them. The last face made him freeze, relief crashing through him. 

“Yep, that’s Marston alright,” he muttered, elbowing Sadie in warning when her triumphant hiss was a little too loud for his tastes. “Jesus he looks like shit.”

_‘Shit’_ was almost an understatement. John’s face was about as thin and gaunt as Arthur’s was. His hair had grown even longer than usual and it hung about his face in scraggly clumps, some of which looked like they were starting to mat. He numbered among the prisoners that had seemingly chosen to forgo a shirt entirely, and even through the binoculars Arthur could count each and every one of his ribs. Arthur couldn’t recall a time he’d ever seen John’s eyes as heavily lidded and dull as they looked now.

“Gimme those,” Sadie hissed, snatching the binoculars back from him and taking another look at John for herself. Arthur didn’t protest, settling back on his heels and letting his eyes track John as he neared. He ignored the anger that simmered to life in his veins, wanting a crack at every bastard that’d laid a hand on his friend. That anger wouldn’t help him – or John – now. He had to wait until he could get John out of here safely; could get him back to his family.

He and Sadie both stayed perfectly still as John’s chain gang and accompaniment of guards filed past them, heading out toward the quarry. Arthur glanced over his shoulder sharply when Sadie made a barely strangled sound of outrage just after the group had passed. His brows knitted together when he saw the fury that’d lit in her gaze, and he quickly followed the direction of her stare back to whatever she was looking at.

The state of John’s back, now visible to them, was enough to test Arthur’s own self-control.

Whip lashes were lined across every conceivable inch of John’s back. Some were clearly recent – angry and red – while others looked partially healed; and all with varying severity. It was truly a wonder that John was up and moving at all.

Arthur waited longer than strictly necessary after the group had passed out of sight to release the tension in his muscles, heaving a quiet sight and burying his face in one hand for a brief moment.

“I’ll kill these sons of bitches,” Sadie spat, and Arthur wasn’t exactly inclined to disagree. 

He raised his hand between them to stop any further commentary about what they’d seen, speaking gruffly. “There’s a place we can watch from closer to the quarry, we’ll move there.” Sadie gave a sharp nod to his words, that he returned. “Unless there’s one hell of an opening, we’re gonna wait ‘till the end of the day to make a move. It’ll be safer all around if we can cross the river at night again. In either event, you wait for _my_ signal, got that?”

“Fine.” Sadie didn’t exactly look pleased about being ordered around, but Arthur didn’t particularly care.

He glanced around to make sure they weren’t leaving behind any evidence of their presence, before starting to move and waving for Sadie to follow and stay quiet. The brush was thicker toward the back of the island, with more actual trees to muffle the sounds of their movement and hide their shadows. It provided Arthur and Sadie enough cover to remain hidden and still get fairly close to where the chain gang was working. By the time they approached, the rhythmic clang of pick-axes against rock had already started up, accompanied by the crumbling and cracking of stone. The six prisoners, still shackled and chained to one another, were facing their direction, and one of the guards had positioned himself between them and the tree line with his rifle already in hand. Again Arthur settled back to wait, his eyes fixed on John.

All the time they’d wasted snipping and snapping at one another in recent months seemed even more ridiculously stupid now. Constantly trying to one-up the other and prove which of them was Dutch’s favorite…that seemed especially foolish. Look at them now: John abandoned by Dutch in some shit-hole State Penitentiary, and Arthur explicitly going against his wishes to rescue John’s fool ass. Hosea might’a called it poetic, but then again, Hosea wouldn’t have let Dutch entertain the idea of waiting for some indeterminate ‘right time’ to rescue John in the first place.

Arthur knew he hadn’t been much better though, nursing his feelings of anger and betrayal over John’s year-long disappearance despite all the apologies, and stubbornly refusing every one of John’s careful attempts to mend what was broken between them. His selfish pride in that regard had kept him from seeing all the growing-up John had done since Blackwater. The John from two years ago would’ve laughed outright if someone had tried to put him on camp guard duty, and yet… And yet half the time Arthur had returned to camp before Saint Denis, John had been the one calling out to confirm his identity.

After all those questionable years, John had turned out to be a damn fine man. And Arthur had missed it.

To make matters even worse, though, now Arthur was having to sit on his hands and do _nothing_ while John was maybe a hundred yards away, suffering. There was no way he wasn’t. It was hot, only the faintest wisps of clouds hanging in the sky, and the surrounding swampland meant it was constantly muggy. The air itself seemed heavy with heat. And that was on top of back-breaking labor, and not even considering how much pain he was already in from his back and whatever other unseen injuries he had. A single ladle of water was passed down the line of prisoners maybe once an hour, but of course, John was last. Which meant by the time it reached him, the ladle was always more or less empty.

If Arthur was a betting man – which he was, on occasion – he’d be willing to put money on the guess that the prisoners that found themselves on the quarry’s chain gang were the troublemakers. They were secluded away from everyone and everything else, the labor they were being forced to do was worse, and the guards that oversaw them _weren’t_ complete morons. On top of that, while the groups in the fields only had to worry about the attention of the whip-toting overseers on occasion, the quarry group seemed to have one reserved just for them.

And Arthur wasn’t the only one to notice that John was struggling worse than his peers.

“Pick it up Marston!” the overseer demanded, having to raise his voice to be heard over the sounds of the men’s work. He’d been all but prowling a short path behind the prisoners for hours now, cracking the whip over their heads in warning if he wasn’t satisfied. He still had the whip unfurled and in hand.

Arthur was near enough to see the way John’s face twisted into a scowl, his next strike impacting the stone with more force. Even so, it didn’t seem to break off enough stone to appease the damned overseer. The man stalked closer to John, and Arthur felt himself tense, shifting in his crouch.

“Not cut out for it?” the man sneered, and Arthur’s gaze flicked back to John, watching as he swung his pick-axe again, ducking his head and doing his damnedest not to rise to the taunts. That was already more restraint than Arthur would’ve expected from him. “Should’a considered that before you went off on a robbing and killing spree across the Midwest. I really am gonna enjoy watching you get what you deserve when you swing.”

Beside him, Arthur felt Sadie stiffen as well, the both of them seeing the way John’s next swing faltered, his expression smoothing into nothing. The overseer continued on casually, as if he was simply commenting on the weather. He seemed content to harass John specifically for the time being, which just made Arthur wonder what John had done to piss him off.

“And to think, we were kind enough to cut your stint in the sweatbox short, even after that stunt you pulled. Thought we’d let you spend your last days in the sun and fresh air. You don’t seem particularly grateful.”

“I’m fuckin’ _working_ , alright?”

Arthur saw the moment John’s control snapped, his expression contorting again a brief second before the words left his mouth. His eyes closed not a heartbeat after that, as if he already knew he’d regret the outburst. Arthur realized why when his gaze flicked up again and he saw the sharp smirk the overseer had adopted. He stiffened impossibly further when the whip flew, cracking against flesh this time. The tail snaked across the tender area around the curve of John’s middle ribs while his arms were raised for another swing at the stone. A blood-red weal bloomed on his skin near-instantly.

The impact of John’s axe against stone was in no way controlled in the aftermath of the lash, John’s whole body seizing as he braced himself on the handle of his axe to keep himself upright. Arthur’s anger flared, but thankfully before he could do anything rash and foolish, Sadie’s hand wrapped around his upper arm in an uncompromising grip. Arthur’s head swung his head around to look at her, feeling his anger start to ebb when she met and held his gaze unflinchingly. It was more than he could say for most men.

“Last thing we need is a commotion.” She pointedly repeated his own words back to him and Arthur scowled but forced himself to release the tension in his muscles. She still didn’t release his arm. “Y’should step away. No need in watching this.”

Arthur opened his mouth to snarl a protest, but the words died in his throat and he flinched violently when the whip whistled and struck flesh again. He held her gaze for another few beats, using it to ground himself and keep his head, before squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to turn away. He moved in the opposite direction, toward the shore, not admitting even to himself how relieved he was when the trees and brush muffled all sounds from the quarry aside from the ring of metal against stone. He sat heavily against another tree, facing the shore, clenching his jaw and doing his best to silence the string of coughs that wracked his chest. He turned his head and spit up the blood only after the fit had passed completely. As he relaxed and his breathing slowly managed to even out, Arthur pulled his journal out of his satchel. Mostly to keep his mind off what he knew was going on behind him, he started sketching the penitentiary and its fields that he’d spent the last two days staring at across a blank two-page spread. More hours slipped past, the sky growing orange and red as the sun began its descent. It was still another hour or so at least until he expected to be able to do anything, and he was startled when a small rock hit the ground sharply beside him. He immediately shoved his journal back into his satchel and moved, struggling to keep as quiet as possible.

He froze a few feet behind Sadie when he saw that John had been manhandled to his hands and knees, visibly trembling, with the overseer standing over him with a hand fisted in his hair. Arthur’s stomach turned when his gaze caught on the blood spattered across the dusty ground surrounding him.

“Threw down his axe and told the bastards to go ahead and hang him.” Sadie leaned in and muttered in Arthur’s ear, causing his expression to pinch. 

Movement from the quarry drew both of their attentions, glancing up in time to see the overseer drag John back to his feet by the grip in his hair. The chain on his waist had been disconnected from the other prisoners’, all of which had frozen.

“Go ahead and have the rest clean up and head in,” the overseer instructed the mounted guard, who immediately nodded. “Don’t wait around for me and Marston; I’m gonna make sure he learns his lesson.”

With that the overseer gave John’s head a harsh shove, making him grunt and stumble forward toward the tree line. Arthur stiffened, watching the pair disappear into the underbrush maybe fifty yards down from them, out of their line of sight.

“Tell me the _second_ the rest are clear,” Arthur ordered in a harsh whisper, before slowly picking his way through the brush toward where John and the overseer had disappeared to. He didn’t give Sadie the chance to respond.

Arthur clenched his hands into fists and bit the inside of his cheek when he heard a muted sound of impact and a strangled whimper from John. He very carefully edged a little closer, to where he could peek around a vine-wrapped tree and see the small clearing the two men had stopped in. He was just in time to watch the overseer kick John harshly in the side to roll him onto his stomach, and then plant his boot in the middle of John’s lashed back to keep him still. John clenched his jaw to muffle the sound of pain that escaped him, and Arthur saw the hand that was closest to him curl and claw grooves into the dirt. It took every ounce of Arthur’s self-control to keep himself still.

“Y’know I can’t _actually_ hang you,” the overseer said, tone mocking as he pulled a bundle of rope from one of the larger pouches hanging from his belt Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man take one end and start to tie the knot of a noose. “Due process of the law, and all that. But if you want a lil practice before your big show in three days’ time, well… No law says I can’t do that.”

“Eat shit,” John ground out, forcing his head to turn to the side and spitting. The overseer just chuckled, tossing his finished noose over a thick, low hanging tree branch and keeping the opposite end of the rope in hand.

“You’re a mouthy lil sonuvabitch, anyone ever told you that?”

Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, willing Sadie to appear and give him the all-clear. She didn’t. When Arthur forced himself to look back around his blood turned to ice when he was that the overseer had bent down and slipped the noose over John’s head, and tightened the knot snug against the back of his neck. Arthur saw John’s eyes squeeze shut, his breathing becoming panicked and labored. He grunted when the overseer pushed off with the boot on his back, far more forcefully than necessary. Then the overseer reached to grab higher up on the rope and yanked down.

John made a sound deep in his chest that Arthur couldn’t identify past that it was either pain or panic as he was lifted off the ground by his throat. One hand immediately shot up to scrabble at the rope, while the other attempted to push himself up to his feet, or at least his knees.

He wasn’t quite able to manage either.

John continued to choke, no room to draw in air, until the overseer released the rope abruptly a few long minutes later. Arthur flinched, his expression blank and cold, as John collapsed back onto the ground, gasping and wheezing.

“I really hope your neck doesn’t just snap when you drop,” the overseer said casually over the sounds of John struggling to breathe, his entire body shaking. “Scum like you deserve to die nice and slow.”

He pulled down on the rope again, slower this time, and John choked on a sound that sounded far too much like a broken sob. The man dragged him up higher into the air, and John’s entire body jerked, both hands clawing at his neck and vainly trying to pull the rope away from his throat.

Arthur felt himself beginning to shake with pure rage. Finally, _finally_ , he heard the rustle of brush behind him. He was moving even before Sadie could speak.

“All…” Whatever Sadie had been planning to say trailed of in favor of surprise as she realized Arthur had already started forward.

Arthur didn’t pay her the slightest bit of attention – that was fully directed at the man that had the balls to think he’d get away with torturing John and God knew how many others like this. He pulled himself up to his full height, yanking his blade from its sheathe and spinning it in his hand. He went right up behind the other man, wrapping a controlling hand around his throat and positioning his blade just above the man’s belly before he could react.

“You move,” Arthur growled, holding the man fast, even as he attempted to jerk away in surprise and reach for a weapon. “You so much as make a goddamn _sound_ and I will gut you where you stand.”

The man grunted, sounding like he was gonna start making demands or saying some bullshit, and Arthur just tightened his grip around the man’s throat, digging the point of his blade through the coat of his uniform so he could feel it threateningly against his skin. The man’s free hand instantly shot up in an unthreatening gesture, while John made a pained, pleading sound around a choked gurgle.

“Now you let the kid go. _Nice_ and gentle. Mrs. Adler would you mind disarming our new friend here?”

Arthur glanced to the side, watching as Sadie stepped out of the trees, moving over to them quickly. She pulled a rifle, a pistol and the whip off of him and Arthur gave a sharp nod, before looking back to John. His expression pinched when he saw that the other man had collapsed into a heap, coughing and choking.

“Arth’r,” he managed to force out, drawing everyone’s eyes to him as his body fell limp and relief washed across his face. 

The way John said his name felt like a stab to the gut and Arthur immediately swallowed, looking sharply back over to Sadie. He jerked his head pointedly toward the man he was holding, thankful when she understood with no further explanation, unholstering her revolver and pressing the barrel directly against the back of the overseer’s head.

“You won’t shoot me,” the man snarled, even as Arthur released him and stepped away. “It’ll draw every guard on the island.”

Sadie’s first response was to pull the hammer back on her revolver, expression unwavering. “You can try me, or you can get on your damned knees and put your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Arthur didn’t hear a gunshot as he turned away, so he assumed the man had done the smart thing and listened to the lady. He turned his full focus back to John as he cleared the space between them as quickly as possible and crouched at his side. One of John’s hands immediately shot up in search of his and Arthur caught it, squeezing reassuringly. He used the grip to gently pull John up, so he was sitting and out of the dirt at least. He wasn’t surprised that John didn’t have the strength to keep himself upright and he allowed the younger man to lean heavily to the side against his chest without comment.

“Easy Marston,” Arthur murmured, his voice a reassuring rumble. He saw John’s eyes squeeze shut, looking like he still didn’t quite believe this was real. The grip he had on Arthur’s hand was weak but insistent, and Arthur rubbed his thumb across the back of his hand, trying to coax John into releasing him if only for a moment. “C’mon kid, lemme get that rope off.”

John hitched a breath, his eyes opening again and shooting to Arthur before he gave a small, hesitant nod. Even with that agreement though, it still seemed like John had to individually peel each of his fingers away from Arthur’s. Arthur had to fight to keep his expression even and empty at the conflicting unbridled rage and concern he was feeling. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen John afraid, in all the fifteen years they’d known each other.

As soon as John managed to drop his hand, Arthur was reaching up, quickly and deftly loosening the knot on the noose and slipping it off his neck over his head. John immediately pulled in a deep, shaking breath, his entire chest expanding with the opportunity to finally fill his lungs. Some of the color returned to his cheeks and Arthur let out a small breath of his own, his shoulders relaxing. 

His eyes shot wide in surprise when, as soon as John had managed to even out his breathing, he twisted around in a laughably weak and uncoordinated movement, and curled both of his hands into Arthur’s shirt. Arthur felt his expression soften when John’s shoulders hitched, but before he could try soothing him again, John buried his forehead into his shoulder. His chest expanded again on another impossibly deep breath before he started mumbling something rapidly under his breath over and over. Arthur gave a small frown, leaning in to try to catch what John was saying, but even still he had to listen to him repeat the phrase five or six times before he was able to parse out the words.

“Knew you’d come.”

Arthur froze for a moment, shocked. Then, almost unconsciously, he reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of John’s head – the only place he was confident he wouldn’t hurt by touching it. He gave John a gentle squeeze, feeling him shake even harder in response and having to close his own eyes briefly to make sure his own breathing stayed calm and even. 

Dutch would catch hell for this. He’d make damn sure of it. ‘Not the right time’ his _ass_.

“Course I came,” Arthur muttered after a few beats, hoping the gruffness in his voice hid whatever emotion had managed to leak through. John pulled in another shuddering breath, this one a little calmer, though he didn’t relax his grip on Arthur’s shirt at all. “I always show up to save your fool ass. C’mon now, take a breath, relax. I’ve got you.”

John gave a small, jerky nod into his shoulder that Arthur returned even if John’s eyes weren’t open to see it, gently patting the back of his head.

“You bastards are on an island with a hundred law men. You’ll all swing for this,” the overseer spat, shattering the quiet calm Arthur had just barely managed to get to settle. His eyes narrowed and he growled, shooting a sharp glance over to Sadie as John curled tighter into him.

“Shut him the _hell_ up.”

Sadie wasted no time in flipping her revolver in her hand and slamming the grip into the side of the man’s head. He pitched to the side, unconscious, and Sadie looked up to them both with a frown.

“He’s got a point, we should move.”

Arthur started to open his mouth to agree, but he stopped short when John’s quiet voice sounded.

“Don’ wanna hang,” he whispered, a shake starting in his voice and his shoulders again. 

Arthur was suddenly forcefully reminded of the last time he’d heard those exact words, in that exact tone from John. The night after Dutch had first brought him back to camp after having stood on the gallows at _twelve years old_ , he’d been all spitfire and vinegar around the lot of them, not trusting any of them none and for good reason. But when Arthur had grudgingly poked his head into the boy’s tent later on to check on him at Dutch’s behest, he’d found him crying and scared, all curled in on himself. Arthur hadn’t blamed him one bit then, and he still didn’t now.

“Hey,” he said, trying to draw John’s attention and leaning back just enough to tip John’s head back by the chin when that didn’t work. 

For a moment, John refused to look up at him and Arthur could barely make out the flush of shame on his cheeks in the dimming light. Giving a small sigh, Arthur moved his hand down from the back of John’s head to the top of his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze until John finally relented and his gaze flicked up to meet his; watery, apologetic, and dull. 

“You _ain’t_ gonna hang. Not while I’m here to pitch a bitch about it.” Arthur said firmly, no room for argument in his tone. John held his gaze for another beat before he gave a quick nod and pulled in a steady breath. Arthur mirrored his nod, squeezing his shoulder briefly again before he started to stand – at least as much as he could with John’s death grip still on his shirt. “You think you can walk with Sadie’s help? I’m gonna carry that bastard, take him along unless he makes himself out a problem. I’ve got some questions and a whole lotta anger.”

John snorted but nodded, slowly pulling away from Arthur and allowing him to fully stand. Arthur didn’t go anywhere though, waiting as John pulled in a slow, deep breath before attempting to scramble up and to his feet. His expression was pained and he grunted as he did so, but he got himself upright, even if he swayed precariously on he’d done so. Arthur had been watching for just that and he reached out to steady John quickly with both hands before he could fall.

“Here,” Sadie said, holstering her gun and moving closer, allowing John to throw an arm over her shoulders weakly, and ending up supporting most of his weight. Wonderful woman that she was, she didn’t even draw attention to it. “Alright cowboy, let’s get you to the beach.”

“We’ll deal with the chains in the boat,” Arthur said, turning his eyes from John for the first time and reaching down to roughly pick up the overseer, grunting as he threw the man over his shoulder and shifted his hold. He didn’t want to waste any more time here, in case someone came looking. He started forward first, trusting Sadie to get John moving safely. “Le’s get gone.”

Arthur wasn’t exactly surprised when it became clear that John wasn’t going _anywhere_ quickly. As anxious as it made him – his gaze flicking back and scanning the area behind them every few seconds – he didn’t comment. John’s hardened, pale expression and his panting breaths made it abundantly clear that he was forcing himself along as quickly as possible. By the time they got to the shore the sun had just finished setting. There weren’t yet more than a few wisps of mist above the water, which made Arthur uneasy, but he wasn’t about to make them wait along any longer.

At this point if someone tried to stop them, his plan was to shoot them.

They hadn’t left the relative safety of the brush for the shoreline until they were near the mangroves they’d hidden the boat in. Sadie carefully helped John to the ground before jogging over to pull the skiff free.

“Y’all really took yer sweet time comin’ to get me,” John said, his voice somewhat back to normal now as he rested both his arms over his knees and hung his head between them. Arthur grimaced, realizing John had no idea what everyone had been through.

“It’s been a hell of a time for everyone,” he said darkly, giving his head a short shake when John looked up just enough to shoot him a questioning glance. “I’ll explain later.”

He looked out to the water as Sadie pulled the boat over to them, moving to toss the man he carried unceremoniously into the bottom of the skiff. He gestured for Sadie to climb in as he turned back around, moving back up the beach for John himself.

“Thanks,” John muttered, relieved, when Arthur just picked him up with an arm around his shoulders and under his knees, doing his best to put as little pressure on the younger man’s back as he could.

“Let’s get you outta here,” was Arthur’s only response.

He gently sat John down on the small bench at the front of the boat before wading back around to the back and pushing them off the shore and towards the bayou, jumping in for himself once they were moving.

“Mrs. Adler, you’re on that rifle,” Arthur said, grunting as he settled the oars in place and started rowing. Her response was to swing the rifle she’d stolen from the overseer off her back and ready it in a few smooth, practiced motions. Bringing it up so she could look through the sight, she pointed the barrel back toward the island.

They were silent for a few long minutes, each of them waiting in baited breath for something to go horribly wrong, as it seemed it had every time they’d tried to pull off a plan in the last few months. Only – for _once_ – it didn’t. Sadie seemed just as wary as he did though, waiting until they could just barely make out the island shore behind them before she relaxed her shoulders and lowered the rifle, blinking and giving a relieved sigh.

“Toss his guns into the river,” Arthur advised, giving a small nod to himself at the answering splashes. “Anything on his clothes that could identify him too. And search him for the keys to get Marston out of those chains.”

“Should be a ring of ‘em on his belt, by the holster,” John chimed in, though his voice was still drained and exhausted. “You guys got any water?”

“Here,” Sadie said instantly and Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see her pass John one of their canteens, and John give a relieved groan as he raised it to his lips and drank deeply.

The next thing Arthur heard after he’d turned back around was the jingle of keys and then the clatter of chains dropping to the floor of the boat, John giving a pained hiss not a second later. Sadie muttered a quiet apology under her breath, before the boat rocked as she went about dealing with their new friend. Quite a few more things found themselves in the river, and from the sounds of chains locking again, Arthur assumed she had restrained the unconscious overseer as well.

“When we get to the shack, you can stay with Marston and this bastard. I’ll return the boat and get the horses,” Sadie said as they began slipping though the narrow, barely noticeable break in the shoreline that gave way to the first trees into the swamp. Arthur gave a short nod of agreement in response, before he stiffened as his chest seized.

His breaths had been causing his chest to ache more and more insistently while he rowed, but he had ignored it. Now the pain lanced through his lungs as he doubled over, coughing violently. For what seemed like an eternity, his breaths became nothing more than rattling gasps. He grimaced when he saw the blood splattered on the floor of the boat between his feet, and he hoped no one _else_ saw it. That wasn’t something he wanted to have to explain to John right now. Of course though, as soon as he’d recovered enough to clear his throat, wipe his mouth, and get back to rowing, John spoke up.

“Shit Arthur, you okay?”

“Just a cough,” he said dismissively, ignoring the glare he could all but feel drilling into his back from Sadie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I love any and all feedback you're all willing to give, and thank you so much to everyone who's already left kudos and comments!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> Unfortunately I wasn't able to get a chapter up last week after all, so I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. Thank you so much to all those who have left feedback, comments and kudos - I love knowing what you're all thinking as we go. Enjoy!

Arthur was exceptionally relieved when they pulled up alongside a small, rundown dock attached to an equally dilapidated shack. He could only assume it was the one Thomas had been referring to; right where the old man had said it would be, and the only building he could see that looked abandoned.

Reaching out to grab the side of the dock, Arthur grunted as he pulled them around so the boat was parallel with it. He moved the oars to the floor of the boat and jumped out, quickly securing the tether. Then, he offered both hands down to John and gave the other man a reassuring nod. John’s face twisted with pain as he reached up and took Arthur’s hands, using the leverage to pull himself to his feet. His arms were trembling just from that and Arthur gave a sympathetic wince, offering John all the support he could.

Once John was standing beside him on the dock, though, John waved off his hands and instead gestured down to the still-unconscious overseer.

“We don’t need to waste time. I can get myself inside,” he said, and Arthur didn’t bother trying to argue with the stubborn glint John’s eyes had adopted. Instead, he just bent down and grabbed the overseer under the arms and dragged him out of the boat and onto the docks.

“Don’ forget to thank Thomas for me,” Arthur said as he slipped the tether line back into the skiff and Sadie grabbed the oars. “Be quick; be careful.”

“Yes boss,” Sadie rolled her eyes at him and Arthur just snorted. He bent down and picked up the overseer again, able to see now that Sadie had put the shackles on his ankles and wrapped the chain that’d been on John’s waist around the other man’s wrists.

“C’mon,” Arthur entreated gently, jerking his head for John to go in front of him, towards the shack. John grunted but did so, still moving slowly and supporting himself on the dock’s posts.

“Thomas?" John questioned stiffly. He likely wanted something to distract him from the trouble he was having simply walking, and Arthur was happy to oblige, giving a sharp nod.

“That feller Dutch sweet-talked into taking us straight to Bronte’s back door,” he said, snorting as John made a face at the reminder. “Old man was kind enough t’ let us borrow the boat and hold onto the horses.”

“Guess I owe him one,” John muttered under his breath, stepping off to the side when Arthur reached out and tapped him on the shoulder with his free hand as they neared the door to the shack. That hand drifted down to rest on his gun as he kicked the door open. Thankfully, however, it was well and truly abandoned, empty aside from a few crates and some broken furniture.

Arthur relaxed, moving further inside and dropping the overseer off his shoulder. He snagged a rusty oil lamp he saw sitting on one of the crates, shaking it to see if it had any oil left. He shrugged a nod and reached for a match from his satchel – there wasn’t much, but it would be enough to give them a little light while they were here. He lit the wick before shaking out the match and sitting the lamp back onto the crate. It gave off enough yellowed light for Arthur to see that John had all but collapsed onto one of the crates, his eyes closed and face twisted with pain.

“You alright?” Arthur asked, his voice growing soft without him really meaning it to. John just snorted, giving a small shake of his head without opening his eyes.

“Naw, I don’t think so,” he whispered and Arthur sighed, ducking his head and reaching up to rub a hand across the back of his neck, trying to think of anything to say. John spoke again before he could come up with something, his voice becoming thicker as his throat visibly bobbed. “I thought… I only had three days left Arthur.”

“You’re safe now.” Thankfully, those words came to him automatically as he moved to crouch beside where John sat, pointedly prodding him in the knee until John relented, opening his eyes and looking over at him. “’M sorry I wasn’t there sooner. If I could’a been, I would’ve. We all…everyone thought you was dead already ‘till four days ago.”

“Shit,” John muttered, looking away at that and running a hand down his face. “Abigail? Jack?”

“Both fine,” Arthur promised with a nod, watching as that allowed John to relax at least a little bit of the tension in his shoulders, huffing a relieved sigh. Then, however, he looked back to Arthur, his expression becoming guarded.

“Is… What about Hosea?”

That question had Arthur giving his own sigh, dropping his head. Above him, John muttered a shaking curse.

“We lost Lenny too,” Arthur said tonelessly, figuring it better to get all the deaths out of the way at once. “He took a bullet to the head on our way out. And Molly – she was a rat, ol’ Mrs. Grimshaw put a round in her.”

“Jesus Christ…” John shook his head before looking back up sharply as Arthur pushed himself to his feet.

Arthur just moved closer to the light, using it to paw through his satchel until he came up with a passably clean cloth, and he wet it with water from the canteen before returning to John, whose expression had turned wary. Arthur saw it and moved to explain, even as he took a knee behind him and moved the lamp closer. “I’ll save bandagin’ you up ‘till I can see better tomorrow, but I’m gonna clean off these lashes now. Get the dirt outta ‘em before they go septic.”

“It hurts enough,” John protested vainly, already trying to twist and shy away, at least until Arthur grabbed his shoulder firmly.

“And it’ll hurt worse if you catch fever.”

John grumbled at him but didn’t try to actively protest anymore. Arthur frowned when he saw a shudder visibly roll down John’s spine, and watched him fist one hand in the loose fabric of his pants to brace himself. Guilt formed a heavy weight in Arthur’s gut and twisted itself into knots.

“’M sorry,” he offered quietly, hesitating. “Not about t’ let you die of infection after all the bullshit I went through to save your ass, though. So…”

John huffed the barest of laughs, shaking his head as he dropped it. “Jus’ do it old man.”

Arthur made a point of grumbling playfully as he started wiping down the bloodied lashes that crisscrossed John’s back. He was being as gentle as he possibly could, but it simply wasn’t feasible to clean the dirt out of a thin, shallow gash going one direction and not pull on the ragged edges of skin of others that intersected. John hissed and his back arched away, and Arthur felt his ever-present self-loathing creep up and settle heavily in his chest. Ignoring it for the time being, he reached up and wrapped his free hand around the front of John’s shoulder, both to ground him and to keep him still. He didn’t let himself stop cleaning the lashes even as John started trembling under his hands.

“How long were you at Sisika?” Arthur asked after a beat, hoping to draw John’s attention away from the pain. John just grunted, rolling the shoulder Arthur wasn’t holding in a stiff shrug.

“Couple weeks, I think,” he said, his voice growing darker as he nodded over to the unconscious man across from them. “That bastard wasn’t the only one that took a particular dislike to me -,”

“Because you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut,” Arthur added without a shred of doubt in his voice, which just earned him a sharp sigh from John before he continued.

“So they liked to keep me in the sweatbox – solitary confinement,” John explained, not even needing Arthur’s question. “Tiny little shed – one door, no windows, no light, no furniture. Only ventilation was the cracks above and below the door. Days…kinda ran together in there.”

“Jesus,” Arthur muttered, not liking how distant John’s voice had become as he explained. For lack of any other ideas, he carefully squeezed John’s shoulder. Relief washed through him when John pulled in a sharp, shuddering breath and cleared his throat.

“Before Sisika,” John moved to continue as if nothing had happened and Arthur didn’t argue, continuing with what he was doing. “Pinkertons took their turn. Oily, sadistic bastards. Decided I was distinctly unhelpful and dropped me off to hang.”

Arthur made a quiet noise of understanding, deciding that he’d gotten John’s back as clean as he was gonna get it for now. He moved around, releasing John’s shoulder and instead picking up one of his legs by the calf to inspect the area on his ankle where the shackle had sat. Ignoring John’s sharp, surprised curse, Arthur made quick work of gently wiping down the raw, bloodied sores that’d formed – first on that leg, and then the other.

He pushed himself to his feet at the sound of horses outside, stiffening as footsteps approached the door.

“Comin’ in,” Sadie’s voice called out in warning, hesitating for a few beats before she opened the door and came in. She tossed a bundle of fabric at John’s chest without preamble, grinning when he just barely got his hands up to clutch it to his chest before it dropped. Her gaze moved to Arthur then, and she spoke. “Grabbed him some’a your clothes, figured you wouldn’t wanna stick around.”

“Nope,” Arthur agreed, tossing the bloodied rag he’d used to the side. “I wanna try and ride ‘till dawn, find us somewhere we can camp and hole up for a few days. Give Marston some time to heal up and make sure we don’t have anyone on our tail. Figure we’ll head west, then north, follow a couple rivers, double back a time or two.”

“You’re the expert.” Sadie raised both hands in surrender, before she nodded down to their unconscious captive. “Am I puttin’ him on your horse or mine?”

“Yours,” Arthur replied instantly, glancing to John and watching the way he was looking between the two of them with pure relief on his face again. “Marston’ll ride with me. C’mon, let’s get you dressed while the lady’s dealing with our friend – speaking of-,” Arthur flicked his gaze between Sadie and the overseer, settling to meet hers after a quick beat. “Gag him with somethin’ so he don’t go makin’ a fuss while we’re riding.”

“Sure thing,” Sadie snorted, reaching down to grab the man under the arms and dragging him none-too-gently out of the shack.

“Mrs. Adler sure is one hell of a woman,” John muttered after giving a slow blink of surprise. Arthur snorted, not disagreeing in the slightest.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he said wryly, plucking the bundle of clothes from John’s arms and gesturing for him to stand. “C’mon up you get. You can rest on the horse.”

John grumbled but pushed himself to his feet with Arthur’s help, untying the drawstring that seemed to be the only thing keeping the striped prison pants up. Neither he nor Arthur were unaccustomed to seeing each other naked – living in cramped quarters and generally only ever having the opportunity to bathe in lakes and streams could be thanked for that. Arthur’s only reaction was to grimace as the action made it even more abundantly clear how malnourished John was.

“Need to get some food in you,” Arthur muttered mostly to himself, glancing up when John scoffed bitterly, jerking his head back into a small nod.

“I surely ain’t about to argue.”

John grabbed the trousers Arthur offered out to him, pulling them up over his hips and somehow managing to get them to stay. Arthur saw the face John made when he held out the long-sleeved union-style shirt next and he sighed, shifting his weight to one leg and giving the shirt a little shake.

“It’ll be loose,” he promised, pointedly keeping the shirt out between them. The fabric was light enough that it shouldn’t aggravate John’s injuries too badly. When John’s only response was to continue to stare at it warily, Arthur took it upon himself to scrunch the shirt up and pull it down over John’s head. “Besides, the road is dusty and ya don’ want me t’ have to clean ‘em again.”

John grumbled but carefully eased his arms into the sleeves, grimacing as the fabric dropped and settled over his back. Arthur considered him for another moment before giving a wave toward the door.

“Alright c’mon,” he said, starting to turn away. “Sooner we get you lost the better.”

“Arthur wait,” John said after a beat of hesitation, reaching forward and catching Arthur by the arm. Arthur paused immediately, looking back around and arching a curious eyebrow. John met his gaze initially, only to drop it back to the ground as he opened his mouth to say something. He released Arthur’s arm almost as an afterthought, and Arthur frowned as the silence stretched.

“Spit it out kid,” he said eventually, purposefully keeping the impatience that usually would have colored those words out of his tone. Even so John flinched, but at least he was spurred into talking.

“I just…” John started, before sighing and hanging his head completely, giving it a small shake. “…thank you, I guess.”

“John you don’t gotta thank me,” Arthur protested immediately, fully turning back around and reaching forward to grasp the younger man’s shoulder firmly. “I know I needle ya ‘bout needin’ rescuing but-,”

“Naw I know that’s just teasin’,” John waved his hand dismissively, which Arthur found to be both a relief and a cause of further confusion. John seemed to realize that because he gave a frustrated sigh. “This sounded better in my head. I know we ain’t…we ain’t as close as we used to be. An’ I know, I know, it’s still my fault-,” John raised a hand in an appeasing gesture without giving Arthur a chance for a reaction. That just made Arthur adopt a small frown and cross his arms over his chest. Still, he didn’t cut in as John dropped his arm loosely back to his side and actually looked back up to meet his gaze. “An’ I also know you prolly only came out here ‘cause Dutch made you but I… All those weeks I knew if anyone was gonna come for me it was gonna be you, an’ I don’t know I guess I just wanted to make sure you knew that. I may not have to but I’m still gonna thank you ‘cause some days…some days knowin’ that was the only thing that kept me goin’, y’know?”

Arthur stared at John for a moment, feeling a lump start to build in his throat. John started to shift and fidget under his gaze, but Arthur couldn’t trust himself to speak at the moment. Considering everything John didn’t know about the state of things at camp, Arthur wasn’t sure whether it was worse that John thought so little of him, or so highly of Dutch. The latter wasn’t something he was looking forward to having to refute.

“If…if we wanna pretend this didn’t happen, or blame it on the heat or exhaustion or somethin’…” John started carefully backtracking, clearly not sure what to make of Arthur’s lack of reaction.

Finally, Arthur forced himself to give one.

Without warning he cleared the few feet of space between them, reaching out to pull the younger man into an embrace against his chest. One hand returned to the back of John’s head while the other wrapped around his shoulders but was careful to hover just above his back so he didn’t accidentally cause any more pain. John’s initial reaction was to become almost painfully stiff, clearly not having considered this as a possible outcome. For a moment Arthur didn’t care to explain himself, holding John tightly to his chest.

“You absolute fool, John Marston,” he muttered eventually into the side of John’s head, giving a slight shake of his own. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to screw up badly enough that John thought the only reason he’d save him from the gallows was at Dutch’s request.

For a brief moment it was John that showed no reaction, but then Arthur just barely made out a quiet, whispered ‘…oh’. He snorted when every ounce of tension bled out of John between one breath and the next, John’s arms coming up to wrap around him and return the embrace with what felt like every ounce of strength he had left in him.

“Dutch didn’t have to _make_ me come get you,” Arthur said lowly, the words rumbling in his chest. It was actually almost the exact opposite, but he wasn’t about to go trying to explain that here and now. John just dropped his head so it rested heavily on Arthur’s shoulder, releasing a long, shaking exhale. “You’re family – my brother – no matter what stupid shit either of us’ve done. If I’ve managed to make you doubt that of all damned things…”

Arthur trailed off, not willing to consider just how bad things had to have gotten for that to be true. Now especially wasn’t the time to be dwelling on it. Instead, he pulled in a slow, steadying breath before leaning back and lightly cuffing John across the back of the head. The gesture startled a laugh out of the other man as he took his own step back.

“Go on now, start makin’ your way out to the damned horse while I clean up this mess,” Arthur said gruffly, completely changing the subject and not offering any more commentary on the previous matter. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind if neither of them mentioned it again; dealing with his emotions, especially those involving others, had never been Arthur’s strong suit.

John still had a grin on his face, though, even as he nodded and started to gingerly make his way toward the door.

Arthur watched him for a few steps, making sure his legs were solid beneath him, before he focused his attention on gathering up anything they’d left behind. The most notable things he grabbed were the bloodied rag and the prison pants, both of which he bundled up before snuffing the lantern and following John out. He tossed both items over the rotting rail of the dock and into the swamp – with any luck a gator would smell the blood off the rag and eat them – and then moved around to the front of the shack.

The grin had noticeably left John’s face, his mouth pressed into a thin frown instead as he struggled down the last few steps off the dock. Luckily Canyon was within arms’ reach and John was able to catch himself against the mare’s neck when his knees started to buckle. Good horse that she was, she didn’t spook at the sudden movement or weight, one of her ears simply flicking back in John’s direction as she swept her tail over her flank to swat at bugs.

“Good girl,” Arthur praised as he approached, earning him the mare’s full attention. Her head turned toward him and she nickered quietly, stomping a hind leg. Arthur patted her rump as he passed, before moving to support John as soon as he was close enough. “I gotcha. Up ya get now.”

Arthur grunted, ending up doing most of the work to lift John onto Canyon’s back. John made a confused sound when Arthur positioned him so he was sitting sideways as far forward as he could, squished up against the swell and horn of the saddle.

“I’m not twelve anymore Arthur,” he protested, though not strongly enough to convince Arthur that he truly meant it.

He gave a snort as he pulled himself up into the saddle behind John, settling as best he could before reaching around the other man for the reins. Canyon’s nostrils flared, her ears pinning back against her head as she pawed at the ground, clearly agitated by the unfamiliar distribution of weight. Arthur murmured to her soothingly, reaching further around John to run his hand down her neck. He only moved to actually offer a response to John’s comment after he’d gotten the horse calm. “Maybe not, but I give you maybe ten minutes before all this excitement wears off and you drop unconscious.”

John’s face twisted into a scowl but Arthur pointedly ignored it, instead shooting a wave and a nod over to Sadie. She was waiting for them astride Bob a few feet away, the overseer draped across the horse’s rump behind her saddle. She returned his nod and Arthur lightly spurred Canyon’s sides, nudging her into a lope that would be an easier ride for John and directing her to follow the darkened road north.

“And when you do that,” Arthur continued matter of factly after they’d gotten a little ways down the road. “You’ll tumble off the horse and break your neck. If I let you ride normal in front of me, all I’d do is aggravate those lashes. So shut up and go to sleep Marston.”

“Fuck off,” John mumbled, but there wasn’t any heat in his tone. In fact, he’d already relaxed to lean sideways into Arthur’s chest. And, when Arthur spared a glance down his nose, he smirked when he saw John’s eyes had closed.

“You alright to ride a good ways Mrs. Adler?” Arthur directed his question off to the right where Bob had fallen in to match Canyon’s stride. She’d likely balk at him – bristle about being asked after like some prim and proper lady – but neither of them had exactly gotten any restful sleep the past two nights, and Arthur was starting to feel the impact himself. He braced himself when he glanced over and saw that Sadie’s eyes had narrowed, but thankfully she just nodded a moment later.

“Sure. Anything to put some distance ‘tween me n’ that goddamn island,” she said and Arthur couldn’t disagree. “Marston gonna be okay?”

“’M fine,” John interjected, earning chuckles from Arthur and Sadie both.

“Sure you are cowboy,” she replied, mirth obvious in her voice. Arthur felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he added his own two-cents.

“He’ll be fine so long as we can keep ‘im from catchin’ fever, and we get some food in him,” he assured, glancing over again to see Sadie’s nod. “I’ll bandage him up with those salves you got later on after we make camp.”

“You said we’d head west?” she asked curiously after a moment, and Arthur gave a small nod even as his eyes scanned across what he could make out of their surroundings. The middle of the swamp wasn’t the safest place to be at night in its own right.

“If I recall correctly there’s a nice lil place on the western end of Ringneck Creek, north of Rhodes. Wooded, quiet, an’ with fresh water. Figurin’ on camping there a day or two,” Arthur said, reaching down to pat Canyon on the shoulder once he was satisfied that there didn’t seem to be any danger on their immediate horizon.

“Near Eris Field? Yeah I know it.” Sadie didn’t sound disapproving, so Arthur was content to take that as her acceptance.

They rode in silence for a decent stretch, the combination of moon and mist through the cypress trees only serving to make Arthur uneasy on principle. So much so that he could admit he was startled when John tapped on his arm unexpectedly.

“Shit Marston!” he hissed, but John didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

“You rem’ber the last time we rode like this?” he asked, his voice contemplative, and no more than a quiet murmur. He didn’t seem to have the energy – or at least didn’t care to find it – to pick his head up off Arthur’s chest. Arthur just snorted with _that_ question, rolling his eyes toward the heavens.

“If you’re askin’ whether or not I _remember_ when yer scrawny ass was responsible for makin’ me, Dutch, n’ Hosea have to book it ‘cross half’a Missouri cause you had to go on and piss off a rival gang…” he said, his voice a completely dry drawl. He was well aware of Sadie leaning in curiously, running Bob as close to Canyon as the two horses would tolerate so she could hear.

“That weren’t how it went and you know it!”

Even with the clumsy elbow John shoved into his belly, Arthur could only laugh at that.

“The hell it ain’t-,”

“I was fever addled,” John started to protest, but Arthur huffed and cut him off.

“Naw, y’don’t get t’ use that excuse when you went off and stole a three-hundred-dollar horse,” Arthur shook his head, only to trail off and tip it to the side when Sadie popped up.

“This sounds like it might be a story I’d want to hear from the beginning.”

John huffed a small sigh, the sound cutting off short with a wince, but Arthur just grinned, patted him on the upper arm, and was more than happy to oblige.

“Well ya see, when Marston here was…” he paused for a moment, thinking, before, “-shit you was twelve weren’t you? Anyway, few months after Dutch dragged him into camp like a feral tomcat, Marston decided to spend his every wakin’ moment persterin’ Dutch for his own horse.”

“You was teachin’ me to ride,” John interrupted, but there wasn’t any aggravation in his tone, just quiet nostalgia. Arthur’s grin widened.

“I was,” he agreed, earning an amused snort from Sadie. “Any rate, Dutch got sick of it real quick, an’ one day he up and told Marston that if he wanted a horse, he’d have to steal it from the Halcorts – that rival gang I mentioned,” he added for Sadie’s benefit. “Horse rustlers, the lot of ‘em, and mean n’ angry to boot. A person of reasonably particular intelligence woulda known it weren’t serious-,”

“I was fevered! And twelve!”

“You didn’t tell no one you was fevered either,” Arthur shot back, which only caused John to grumble indecipherably, tucking his chin to his own chest. Arthur looked up and tossed a wink at Sadie, causing her to roll her eyes. “So’s we all – me, Dutch, n’ Hosea – woke up the next morning and Marston was nowhere to be found. Snuck outta camp in the middle of the night. We spend hours going ‘round lookin’, and finally Hosea finds him passed out with fever, sick as a dog, under a bridge three miles from the Halcorts’ ranch. Standin’ next to him, just waiting, was the prize stallion of the Halcorts’ stable.”

“You’re _shittin’_ me,” Sadie coughed around a laugh, her eyes bright and delighted. Arthur just gave a small shake of his head.

“Beautiful animal too, silver dapple Fox Trotter. The hell was it you named him?” Arthur directed the question down to John, who hummed sleepily, but eventually responded.

“Fish.”

“’at’s right,” Arthur deadpanned, the corners of his mouth twitching up despite his best efforts when Sadie actually snorted from trying so hard to keep her laughs quiet. “Prize three-hundred-dollar stallion and you named him _Fish_.”

“W’s a good horse,” John said, his brow scrunching up. Arthur’s expression finally broke and he chuckled as well, patting John’s leg reassuringly.

“I know. That horse did right by you for quite a few years.”

“Dutch let him _keep it_?” Sadie demanded and Arthur shrugged, some of the amusement fading from his face as Dutch was brought back to the forefront of his thoughts. 

“I ain’t never seen him more impressed,” Arthur said eventually, and try as he might, he couldn’t keep the sadness out of his voice. In front of him, John shifted, his brow creasing even more. “He used to tell everyone that damn story. We had to ride out so fast we barely had time to pack up, and the kid was still so sick that Dutch made me ride with ‘im like this so’s I could keep an eye on him.”

“Bitched the whole damn way too,” John reminded, and Arthur snorted, but didn’t dispute it. There was an easy stretch of silence between all three of them for a few moments.

They were just starting across the bridge over the river and out of the bayou when John spoke up again.

“Whatever’s happened with everyone; with Dutch… I ain’t gonna like it am I?” he asked, sounding like he wasn’t exactly sure whether or not he actually wanted to know the answer.

Arthur grimaced, and before he could figure out a decent response, John was continuing. 

“I mean, Dutch’s been…he’s been a lil off for a while now, but…”

“Naw,” Arthur admitted as a sigh eventually, reaching up to pull the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. He moved a hand up to the back of John’s neck when the younger man stiffened and started to straighten. “Naw you ain’t gonna like it, but we ain’t talking about it now neither. Rest.”

He felt John all but deflate and he patted the back of his neck reassuringly before returning his attention to his horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! Please feel free to let me know what you think, or if you notice any mistakes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back all! Can't believe we're at chapter five already. Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos, each one makes my day a little brighter. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

After they’d left the bayou behind, Arthur was content to stray off the roads entirely, the horses instead continuing their easy lope across the grassy fields of western Lemoyne. Blessedly, John seemed to have actually drifted off at some point, his body limp in the saddle and head lolling against Arthur’s chest and shoulder. At least there was no fear of him slipping off, the way Arthur’s arms were slotted around him.

Neither Arthur nor Sadie felt the need to fill the silence between them, and for the rest of the ride the only sounds were the rhythmic drumming of the horses’ hooves against the ground, and the gentle breeze whistling through the prairie grasses. Arthur was sure to keep their path as far from linear as possible, steering Canyon to splash along through shallow streams in one direction or another every time they came across one. If Sadie had anything to say about the precaution, she kept it to herself.

Arthur just knew that if they led the law to Beaver Hollow on top of this ill-advised rescue, Dutch was liable to shoot all of them.

Their captive regained consciousness as they trotted through one of the small creeks, spluttering and jerking a few times before he seemed to realize where he was and how he was bound. Arthur snorted at the garbled, completely incomprehensible sounds that issued from behind the gag Sadie had helpfully supplied him with. Even without being able to make out the words, though, Arthur knew that they’d be threats, an attempt to bargain, demands for release, or some combination of all three.

“Want me to shut him up again?” Sadie offered, earning a particularly disgruntled sound of protest. Arthur just shrugged; it didn’t make a difference one way or the other to him, so long as he didn’t draw them any attention. And they hadn’t passed more than a small handful of others in the distance, with none on the horizon now either.

“I know I don’t want you to accidently knock him stupid,” Arthur said after a moment, one corner of his mouth twitching up at the scoff Sadie gave to that.

“Y’know I’m kinda surprised you risked dragging him along with us at all,” Sadie was saying in the next beat and Arthur looked to her curiously. “I mean sure, tonight we ain’t riding far, and the chance of him gettin’ seen is slim, but later on? Ain’t you the one usually tryin’ to steer Dutch _away_ from petty revenge?”

“It ain’t revenge,” Arthur protested immediately, sighing and glancing down to John’s lax face when he saw the delicately arched eyebrow Sadie pinned him with. After a beat, he amended: “Most of it ain’t. Leavin’ him dead on Sisika woulda had ‘em on our tail faster, and he’d’ve been a good hostage if the need had arose. As far as your first concern, you are vastly overestimatin’ the longevity of his usefulness. I’ll deal with ‘im as soon as I get a few hours’ rest. Bunch of coyotes on the prairie north of where I plan on camping; problem takes care of itself.”

“Alright.” Sadie raised both hands in a gesture of surrender, before she snorted to herself and shook her head, muttering under her breath. “ _’Overestimatin’ the longevity of his usefulness’_ …since when do you spout off like you have more’n half a brain Arthur Morgan?”

Rather than taking offense, Arthur just chuckled, glancing up to gauge the position of the moon in the sky. It was tough going to keep _himself_ from getting turned around. Though, he supposed that just showed how much trouble he was giving anyone trying to track them down.

“Unlike Dutch, I never lost the good sense to listen to Hosea,” he said mildly, ignoring the clench in his gut that still ached like hell even after however many weeks it had been since that damned bank job in Saint Denis. He had a feeling it was just something he was going to have to get used to feeling. Hosea had raised and nurtured a whole different side of him than Dutch had. Dutch had taught him how to fight, how to shoot, how to steal. Hosea on the other hand had focused on out-thinking, strategizing, and sweet-talking. His younger self had taken to Dutch and his tutelage like a duck to water and he’d flourished as the looming presence at Dutch’s right hand. Now though…now he could only wish he’d taken enough of Hosea to heart to be able to truly be the counter-balance Dutch desperately needed, especially now. It wasn’t coincidence in his opinion that Dutch’s unravelling had only really spiraled out of control with Hosea’s loss.

“Arthur, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it…” Sadie’s uncertain voice pulled him from his thoughts, causing him to shake himself, before glancing over to Sadie with a blink.

“Huh? Oh, naw,” he waved off that concern, sweeping his gaze around their surroundings again before clicking his tongue to Canyon and nudging her sides gently. John made a displeased noise in his sleep as he jerked back against Arthur’s chest when the mare leapt out of the stream bed and into the prairie grasses, settling again when they’d eased into a much smoother gallop.

“Y’know us old folk and our philosophizing’,” Arthur said dismissively once Bob had caught up to match Canyon’s stride again.

“Oh please, you ain’t old,” Sadie scoffed and Arthur chuckled, nodding down to John.

“Tell that to Marston.”

Sadie snorted but didn’t prod the playful argument any farther. Arthur didn’t mind letting the silence settle either, patting Canyon’s neck again.

Finally, Arthur allowed himself to actually direct them toward their destination. It was actually still a few hours ‘till dawn when Arthur pulled Canyon’s reins back, slowing to a walk as he turned her into a sparse collection of trees and toward the bubbling sounds of a nearby stream.

“Woah, girl, easy,” Arthur murmured to Canyon, stopping her near a tree with a low branch to hitch to. He glanced around the nearby area, nodding to himself as he made out the small clearing surrounded by trees and bordered on three sides by a bend in the snaking stream.

“Looks good,” Sadie said, stopping Bob at another nearby tree and surveying the area for herself. “Easily defensible, no clear lines of sight to any of the roads or the prairie…trees’ll muffle the screams…”

Arthur snorted a laugh, ending up grimacing when it caught in his chest and started a series of wracking coughs. His face was still amused though. He started to shift to swing off his horse, bracing John with one hand, only to settle back down quickly when Sadie waved him off, pulling her tent canvas out of her saddlebag.

“No, no, don’t move Marston ‘till I have you some place to put him,” she said hastily. Arthur opened his mouth to protest, only to snap it back shut again when Sadie pinned him with a withering glare. “Lord knows that man needs his _beauty_ sleep.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head and running a hand down his face. He watched with a slightly raised eyebrow as Sadie went about pitching the tent.

“No fire tonight,” he said eventually, dropping his hand down to his thigh. Once he caught sight of her nod he continued. “In the mornin’ maybe. We’ll see. I’ll scout around a bit to double check that we didn’t leave any obvious tracks. We’ll tie our new friend to a tree, and one of us can sleep on a bedroll out here to keep an eye on things, and one of us can take the tent with Marston.”

“I am _not_ sharing a tent with John Marston.” Sadie’s head popped up from behind the half-raised tent, a note of firm warning in her voice. Arthur didn’t protest, shrugging a sideways nod.

“Don’t blame ya. He’s a cuddler.”

“Good lord you made it worse.”

Arthur chuckled quietly to himself under his breath, grunting as he went about maneuvering himself out of the saddle without jostling John enough to hurt or wake him. Of course, considering his extensive injuries, and John’s general tendency to sleep light, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to be surprised when – despite his best efforts – John violently jerked back into consciousness as Arthur slid him out of the saddle and into his arms. Arthur gave his own sympathetic grimace as he quickly fixed his grip, trying to be as gentle as possible. He just barely noticed John’s clenched fist, and the graceless haymaker aimed square at his face, in time to duck out of its way.

“Jesus Marston!” he spat, only to soften almost immediately when he saw the bleary, far-away look in John’s eyes, and the way his expression had twisted with pain and the clear expectation of more. “Hey, easy. Just me; I’ve still got you.”

“…Arthur?”

John blinked at him, seeming to struggle to focus on his face. Once he had, all the fight drained out of him, and the confusion and fear on his face changed to relief. “’at was real?”

“Me and Mrs. Adler surely did sit around in a swamp for two days waitin’ to rescue your fool ass,” Arthur confirmed, relaxing himself and starting to move forward once he was sure that John wasn’t going to swing any more punches. If John Marston was _anything_ he was a scrappy son of a bitch, and Arthur didn’t particularly feel like getting the daylights knocked out of him.

John only hummed in response, turning his head to hide it in Arthur’s shoulder and closing his eyes again. Arthur snorted, shaking his head as he ducked into the fully erected tent after Sadie had exited it and gave him a nod. Two of their bedrolls had been set side-by-side, and Arthur moved to lay John down on one carefully.

“Layin’ you down nice and gentle,” Arthur warned as he went down on one knee, _before_ John’s back had a chance to touch the padded wool of the bedroll. Even still, John hissed and lurched up off his back and onto his side almost instantly, his face scrunching up. Arthur gave a quick, sympathetic frown, and spoke quieter as he briefly squeezed the top of John’s shoulder. “We’re makin’ camp, you just go back to sleep.”

John mumbled something that Arthur assumed was some form of agreement. He watched John settle for a moment, his eyes not reopening, before he gave the smallest of nods to himself and stood, ducking back out of the tent before he straightened. He ignored the way he coughed as he did so, spitting the resulting blood off to the side and continuing back over to the horses as if nothing had happened.

“You wanna get that bastard?” Sadie’s voice sounded from his right and he glanced up to her quickly, in time to see her drop her saddlebags and bedroll to the ground a few feet away from the tent. In lieu of responding, Arthur watched her for a moment, a small frown forming on his face. Her words had been too well timed after his coughing fit for her _not_ to have been waiting until after he recovered to say them, but despite that there was no evidence in her voice or expression that she’d even noticed. Deciding to simply count his blessings that she wasn’t tripping over herself in concern, Arthur just gave a grunt and a short nod of agreement.

The man still draped across the back of Sadie’s stallion jerked away with his approach, more garbled protests sounding from behind his gag. Arthur ignored both, yanking the man back and sliding him off the horse and onto his shoulder with all the care he’d show toward a sack of grain. The wriggling resumed in earnest and Arthur growled under his breath but otherwise didn’t bother with a reaction, keeping a firm hold around the man’s middle.

If, however, when he dropped the man unceremoniously off his shoulder at the base of a tree, the man’s head just _happened_ to thump solidly against the trunk, well… He supposed he was entitled to a few happy accidents. 

The man groaned and curled slightly onto his side, unfortunately remaining conscious. Arthur snorted, catching the bundle of rope Sadie tossed in his direction, and cutting off a decent length. He tossed one end around the lowest of the tree’s branches on the opposite side of the trunk, catching it again when it swung back around and pulling so the ends were even. Keeping a hold of both ends in one hand, Arthur reached down and dragged the overseer up by the chains wrapped around his wrists. He deftly passed one end of the rope between the man’s now-outstretched arms, before tying the two ends together. Not wanting to take any chances, he then threaded the knot around to the opposite side of the trunk, as far away from the man’s hands as possible. As an added precaution, he pulled the loop of rope tighter until he had enough slack to wrap it around the tree branch once and knot it again to ensure it stayed in place.

Arthur went back around the tree to check his work, nodding slightly to himself when he saw that the other man had managed to get himself into a lop-sided sitting position against the base of the tree, his arms stretched above his head. Arthur met the dazed glare the man had pinned him with unflinchingly, not able to muster up even the smallest pinprick of remorse or guilt. He’d done far worse to far less deserving in his time – this wasn’t a sin that would haunt him. 

Not after what he’d seen this man do to John. 

When Arthur turned back around, not offering so much as a word to their captive, he gave a grateful blink when he saw that Sadie had gone ahead and unsaddled both horses, and was in the process of lugging a small pail she must’ve had stored with her bedroll behind the saddle back over to the horses, having filled it in the stream.

“Appreciated,” Arthur said with a slight tip of his hat, grinning when Sadie just waved him off and bee-lined for her bedroll, kicking it open. “You ever hamstrung a man before?”

There was a beat of surprised silence as Sadie looked around, her brow raised.

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Real easy,” Arthur assured, keeping his voice light and casual. “Nice big tendon on the back of the knee. Take a knife to it, sever it completely, and a man’ll never walk right again, if at all. This fella gives you any trouble, you go on an’ just pick a leg. Both if you’d rather; I don’t need him t’ walk.”

“Sure thing!” Sadie sounded amused of all damn things. She sure was one hell of a woman. Arthur gave another nod, this one sharper, as he cut a glance over his shoulder to the man tied to the tree. His face had gone ashen with horror, and Arthur just gave a chilling smirk before nodding to him as well. He didn’t take his eyes off the man as he spoke again.

“But I know you ain’t gonna give the lady any trouble, right?”

The man started shaking his head immediately, as if by pure instinct, before he seemed to realize what he was doing. The movement stopped just as quickly as it had started, and he narrowed his eyes into a glare.

Arthur snorted, moving to retrieve one of his rifles from where Sadie had left his saddle, before glancing over to her questioningly. She gave him a nod, already seated on her bedroll with her arms draped over her knees, and Arthur returned it before ducking into the small tent. 

He laid his rifle carefully to the far side of the second bedroll, well away from John, before unbuckling his gun belt and laying it, his satchel, and his hat in the same spot where they’d be easily accessible if he needed them quickly.

Even at those small noises, John’s brow had creased and he snuffled, making small whimpering noises in his sleep. Arthur frowned at that, speaking softly as he lowered himself onto the second bedroll, which just happened to be the direction John had ended up facing, on his side instead of his back.

“Hush now,” he rumbled, nodding to himself when the creases in John’s brow eased at the sound of his voice, at least somewhat. Lying down on his back, Arthur released a long breath, rolling his shoulders and relaxing. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to let some of the tension drain out of him. He ended up opening them again shortly after, turning his head to the side and watching as much of John’s face as he could see in the limited light in the tent.

It boggled his mind that Dutch had wanted – that _he’d_ almost _agreed_ – to leave John to rot in that hell. Sure, Dutch hadn’t known how bad it was; none of them could have. Just like they couldn’t have possibly known how soon they had John set to hang. But for Dutch to have been willing to even take that chance… Before Saint Denis, before _Blackwater_ , Dutch never would’ve left one of them like that – especially not John of all people. The man was like a son to him.

Arthur’s chest ached for a reason he didn’t think he could blame on sickness, but at least it was a convenient enough excuse. He was _tired_. Tired of being the one to make Dutch’s excuses, of defending his increasingly outlandish schemes, of feeling like he was the one final thread struggling to hold the lot of them together. If he couldn’t get through to Dutch, if _this_ didn’t knock him out of whatever half-crazed spiral he was in… Arthur didn’t know if there’d be any salvaging the shit show they’d all found themselves in.

Still, no matter how tired he was, Arthur was gonna give his every breath up until his very last trying.

Muffling a few sudden coughs with his elbow, Arthur sighed and tried settling into the bedroll again, letting his eyes slip closed.

**~**

Arthur was surprised when his next moment of awareness didn’t come until there was fairly bright sunlight filtering through the tent canvas. He hadn’t been expecting true sleep, not with as tense and wary as he was, but apparently it had snuck on him amidst his thoughts with him none the wiser. He wasn’t about to complain though. Letting his eyes drift back closed for a brief moment, he fought to breathe through the tightness that had settled in his lungs overnight, content to pretend he didn’t hear or feel his whole chest rattling with every exhale.

He fought against the urge to sigh, knowing it would only start up a coughing fit violent enough to wake John. Thinking of the younger man, though, had his eyes opening again, glancing down and to his left. He wasn’t exactly surprised that throughout the course of the night John had not only managed to curl right up to his side, but also weasel his head half up onto Arthur’s stomach. 

He fought against the grin that started to twitch at the corners of his mouth, giving an affectionate shake of his head instead and settling it back so he was looking up at the top of the tent. John had _always_ been like this – seeking out warmth and comfort in his sleep – and they’d shared a tent for years after Dutch had dragged John into their little rag-tag family. That’d only changed when John had been nearing seventeen and waking up half-flung across Arthur started causing more embarrassment than he’d been prepared to handle. The kid had squirreled away a little bit of money after every job until he had enough to buy a tent of his own. Arthur personally had never cared one way or the other – he didn’t move much at all in his sleep so having John right next to or on top of him most nights didn’t bother him. He’d just shove John off when he needed to get up.

He’d never even really given it a second thought – John had just always been the infuriating scrap of a little brother he’d never had – at least until he’d caught some of the other guys mercilessly ribbing John about the habit after sharing a tent with him out on a job. It’d been a couple of fellows that ended up just drifting through the gang briefly before going on to supposedly greener pastures; no one that’d stuck around for long if he remembered correctly. Arthur may not have interfered when the teasing had taken on a taunting, crueler edge, but he also hadn’t stepped in when John had eventually lost his temper and beaten all three into the dirt in short order. Still, after that incident Arthur had made sure for the longest time that John had the option of either his own tent, or sharing his. John had never brought it up, even if he had noticed – which Arthur was sure he had because even John wasn’t _that_ hopeless.

The little habit had stopped completely after John had taken off, and Arthur had pointedly not offered the same since he’d been back. 

He glanced down to John again, frowning as he realized that the younger man looked even worse up close in decent lighting than he had the night before. He could tell even underneath all the grime and dirt that John’s skin had a distinctly unhealthy grayness to it, and his ribs and joints were all sharp points attesting to the leanness of his frame. There were dark circles under his eyes, bruises around his neck, and he was shivering even with the bedroll’s blanket pulled up around his shoulders.

The unwelcome reminders of the day before and everything they had rescued John from just had him giving a sharp shake of his head to pull himself out of his thoughts, starting to try to maneuver his way out from under John. He froze comically still when even the smallest movement had one of John’s hands scrabbling for a fistful of his shirt, his breath hitching with what sounded like fear as his eyes screwed even more tightly shut.

“Jesus Marston,” Arthur muttered, relaxing back onto an elbow and reaching over with his other hand to gently squeeze John’s shoulder, hoping to ease him out of whatever terror had sank its claws into him. A small part of him wanted to be annoyed, but he quickly shoved that back, berating himself. John had been beat to hell and back – had thought he’d been abandoned to stare down the gallows. The last thing Arthur could blame him for after enduring that was seeking out comfort. So he just gave John’s shoulder a small shake, before reaching up to swipe John’s tangled hair out of his face. “I’ve got ya, brother, yer alright. Still jus’ me. I gotta get up though, make sure we didn’t leave a trail to follow headin’ in here last night. Maybe find us somethin’ fresh to eat.”

The tension in John’s body seemed to ease little by little as he listened to Arthur talk. Arthur did his absolute best to ignore the tickle in the back of his throat, his chest starting to constrict painfully.

“’M also ‘bout to start hackin’ up a lung an’ I’m not sure you wanna be layin’ on top of me for that.”

John frowned, even if his eyes remained closed. Finally he forced himself to release the death-grip he had on Arthur’s shoulder and roll away, though not far enough that he put any weight on his back. Arthur said nothing, barely keeping himself steady enough to avoid scrambling out of the tent.

He _wasn’t_ able to keep himself upright for more than a heartbeat after slipping through the tent flaps, instead doubling over as his entire body heaved with the force of his coughs. He managed to stumble forward, blindly reaching out to catch himself and finding a tree to brace himself against, his world spinning. His lungs felt like they were shredding themselves to ribbons in his chest, and the dark blood splattering the ground at his feet did absolutely nothing to convince him otherwise. He kept himself braced against the tree by pure force of will alone, struggling to pull even the smallest precious gasps of air.

He couldn’t rightly tell how long the fit lasted, only that when his breathing finally started to ease and his vision swam back into focus, it was his forehead and not his hand that was painfully digging into the bark of the tree to keep himself upright. It took another few minutes for him to get his breathing completely under control to the point that he was no longer light headed, and his breaths weren’t wheezing or rattling in his chest. He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder, already able to feel someone hovering behind him.

“’M fine,” he ground out before anything could be said, grimacing when the words came out sounding like he’d swallowed broken glass. He cleared his throat, shuddering at the stabbing pain that alone caused, spitting the blood and infection that came up off to the side before wiping his mouth and pushing himself fully onto his feet.

Sadie was waiting a half-step behind him, her expression blank but her eyes dark enough to show her concern regardless. Arthur gave a small, wordless shake of his head, asking her to leave the matter alone, even as he reached out to take the canteen she had held out to him, pretending his hand wasn’t shaking.

He drank from the canteen greedily in the heavy silence, hoping it soothed his throat at least, and tried his best to ignore the way it felt like her gaze pierced all the way though him. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit out loud to _anyone_ what he was suffering from, but the majority of camp had managed to at least gather the fact that he wasn’t well. He was content to ignore the searching glances, and didn’t care to know what conclusions they’d drawn. From the deep frown set into Sadie’s face she likely had the vague understanding that whatever he had, it wasn’t likely to get better.

“Thanks,” Arthur said, only speaking after he’d drained near half of the canteen and lowered it again. He shook himself to clear his thoughts, glancing around the trees that surrounded them and letting his gaze settle on the man still bound to one of them. He was staring at them both with a defiant expression, but it didn’t look like Sadie had needed to go for his hamstrings during the course of the night. Absently, Arthur gestured toward the man with the hand that still held the canteen. “He give you any trouble?”

“Not a peep,” Sadie said after a half-beat of hesitation, seeming to have to force herself to look away from Arthur and at their captive instead. “I was lookin’ forward to havin’ a go at him for what he did to Marston too.”

Arthur snorted, surveying the man again briefly before he turned away, bending down to set the canteen beside Sadie’s bedroll. “We’ll all get our chance don’t you worry.” There was nothing in his tone aside from a cold certainty, and Arthur let the words settle for a moment before the changed the subject completely. “I’ma head out and do some scouting, make sure we didn’t leave a trail. Think we can risk a fire, if you wanna get one started.”

“Sure,” Sadie agreed, moving in the opposite direction. 

Arthur ducked back into the tent, and was surprised to see that John had pulled himself into a sitting position, and had pinned him with a concerned, searching gaze as soon as he’d reentered the tent. Arthur pointedly didn’t acknowledge it, reaching for his gun belt and studiously going about buckling it in place.

“That’s one hell of a cough.” John broke the silence when Arthur reached back down, slinging the strap to his satchel over his shoulder and grabbing his hat and rifle.

“Sure is,” he replied, hoping his tone was warning enough to make John leave the matter alone, as unlikely as he already knew it would be. For the time being though, he didn’t give the younger man the chance to say anything else. “We’ll get you cleaned and bandaged up when I get back in a few.”

He settled his hat on his head after he’d left the tent and straightened, not bothering to look in Sadie’s direction before starting through the trees away from their camp. He didn’t bother going through the trouble of saddling and bringing Canyon along; he wasn’t planning on going too far, just to check their immediate surroundings for anything that pointed to their presence hidden in the trees near the stream. Lord willing, he’d return without any trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! I absolutely love and welcome any feedback and to know your thoughts on how things are progressing so absolutely feel free to tell me any and every thing. Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Here we go with a new chapter! Thank you all so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos for the last chapter, there were so many! Fair warning that this one is quite a bit longer compared to the others, but there was no good place to stop it so...hopefully no one minds? Either way, enjoy!

Arthur was more relieved than he was even willing to admit when he came across no evidence that they’d been followed, or that anyone was even searching in their general direction. Even so, he checked maybe a mile or so out in every direction before he was satisfied. Thankfully, the prairie remained blessedly quiet, grasses waving in the breeze and the only sounds on the wind those of birds and the occasional cart or stage rumbling along the nearest road at a leisurely pace. No thundering of horses’ hooves as the law rode up on them. No baying of hounds as they tracked them most of the way across the state of Lemoyne.

He allowed himself to focus closer to his immediate area on his way back towards their little camp, watching for signs or tracks of anything worth hunting. Trampled grasses and clumps of fur clinging to brambles led him to a small herd of pronghorn in short order, and he sighted one down the barrel of his rifle, waiting a few beats before squeezing the trigger.

The gunshot echoed across the open plain, but he doubted it was an uncommon occurrence – many of the homesteaders in the area likely relied on wild game for meat. One of the pronghorn could keep the three of them comfortably fed for a few days at least, and the bones could be tossed into a pot and boiled to make a broth that would be easier on John’s stomach. He made his way over to the doe that had crumpled in the wake of his gunshot as the rest of the herd scattered across the prairie. Slinging the carcass over his shoulders with a grunt after giving it a brief once-over, he made his way back toward camp.

By the time he returned there was a happily crackling fire in a small pit that’d been dug in the center of their little clearing, the canopy of trees above them collecting and dispersing the smoke as it rose. It looked like Sadie had taken a brush to both of the horses, and John had made his way out of the tent and was instead huddled near the fire.

Both of them looked up sharply at the sound of his approach, their tension only easing after he’d been identified. Sadie made an impressed noise as she eyed the spoils of his hunting, moving to help him lift the pronghorn off his shoulders.

“You wanna take care of that?” Arthur asked, nodding down to the animal and then looking to Sadie with a questioning eyebrow. He continued with an explanation even after he’d received a nod of agreement, taking a small step back. “I’m gonna start getting Marston taken care of before he catches some damn fever.”

“Any trouble out there?” John asked as Arthur’s attention turned toward him. His worry was obvious, a line of tension remaining in his shoulders. Arthur gave a small shake of his head, lightly patting the top of John’s as he walked past the other man and grinning at the scowl it earned him near instantly. He leaned his rifle up against the side of the tent, tossing his hat and his satchel to the ground near it.

“Not so far as I could tell,” he assured, glancing up in time to watch the last of the tension bleed out of John’s shoulders, his eyes closing. Arthur looked back down as he continued, starting to paw through the saddlebag he remembered Sadie indicating as the one that held his requested medical supplies. “You w’re asleep most’a last night, but I was sure to double back a time or two, stayed off the roads, and went along through every stream and creek we went by. Even hounds’ll have a time and a half tryin’ to figure out where the hell we went, and that’s presumin’ they even pick us up in Lagras in the first place.”

John nodded as Arthur moved back by him again, going to set up the supplies he’d gathered on a mostly flat stone near the stream. He was no doctor, not even much of a nurse, but he knew some and that was the best John had at his disposal for the time being. When they got back to Beaver Hollow, Arthur would be more than happy to foist John and his extensive injuries off on Ms. Grimshaw and Reverend Swanson – who were both far more experienced and knowledgeable than he could ever hope to be – but that would be days from now. At the very least he had steady hands and enough of an idea of the basics from all the time he’d spent being patched up himself in the past. 

He took a step back, surveying his small collection of supplies severely. Between what he’d already had off-hand and what he’d send Sadie into Van Horn to get, he had a handful of different herbal tonics and medicines at his disposal, along with a vat of healing salve, two thick rolls of cloth bandages, some soap, and a full bottle of whiskey for good measure.

It was as good as he was going to get, and Arthur kicked his boots off before turning back around to John. 

He wasn’t surprised to see that John had already struggled to his feet under his own power, swearing the whole time, by the time he’d turned back around. Arthur just sighed at the sight, wishing the younger man’s stubbornness was unexpected, quickly moving to loop one of John’s arms over his shoulders before his legs could give out beneath him. John grunted his thanks as opposed to fully articulating it, but Arthur didn’t expect much else, grateful that John allowed himself to brace his arm against Arthur’s shoulders instead of refusing the assistance entirely. John kept himself moving at a slow, steady pace toward the stream, even as the blood drained from his face and pain caused his eyes to dull.

“I don’t think even you could find a way to drown in this stream, Marston,” Arthur said as they neared the bank, his tone laced with playful reassurance.

John’s face immediately twisted into a scowl and Arthur chuckled.

“Asshole,” John bit out, though the hissed insult was edged with more pain than actual anger. Arthur would take it, knowing that it only meant John’s full attention wasn’t on his injuries for at least a moment.

They both quieted as they stopped after wading a few steps into the stream. The water just barely lapped up to Arthur’s calves – a relatively safe depth – slow moving, and not cold enough to be uncomfortable. John’s face, of course, was lined with an unhealthy combination of pure stubbornness and discomfort, but he still went about finding the least painful way to lower himself down to sit in the water. Arthur helped as best he could, wincing as John let out a long, steadying breath and closed his eyes. Arthur crouched beside him in the water once he was settled, waiting a few moments for John’s breathing to even back out. Then he reached for the hem of John’s shirt. 

Between the two of them they managed to pull it off as painlessly as possible, Arthur giving another sympathetic wince as he got another look at the state of John’s back.

It wasn’t _quite_ as red and angry as it had looked the day before when the lashes had been fresh, but the bruises between the welts and cuts had darkened, and the edges of where the worst of the lashes had torn the skin were puffy and swollen.

“I’ma check your ribs first,” Arthur warned after waiting a few minutes and still not seeing any sign of John wanting to open his eyes again. At the very least the younger man gave him a sharp, jerky nod to that, which Arthur felt himself returning even if John wouldn’t see it.

He settled a hand on each of John’s sides, keeping his touch as feather-light as possible while allowing his fingers to push and probe along the visible lines of John’s ribcage. He ran his fingers from John’s sides up to his sternum, before moving back to his sides and starting down the opposite direction. He did his best to avoid the lashes themselves as he checked back to where his ribs met his spine. There were quite a few tender spots, John tensing under his hands at each one without making a single sound, but blessedly there weren’t any complete breaks where bone shifted freely with his touch.

“Probably a couple cracks but nothing broken,” Arthur said after a moment, pushing himself back to his feet and wading back across the stream to the stone where he’d left his supplies. He passed the whiskey to John first without a word, earning him a clear look of gratitude, before he cut a small square off the end of one of the rolls of bandages and snagged the soap.

He brought both with him back over to John, finding a smaller, nearby stone to perch them on before he returned his full attention to John. He gave the younger man the chance to take a few healthy swigs from the whiskey bottle, knowing he was going to need whatever edge the alcohol managed to take off the pain. Then, he reached around and tugged the bottle out of John’s hand, bracing his empty one firmly on top of John’s shoulder.

John sucked in a breath as a shudder visibly rolled down his spine, his body already painfully tense just from anticipation.

Arthur eyed the pre-emptive reaction warily, feeling his own expression start to pinch. “You want somethin’ to bite down on?” 

They both knew that this was gonna hurt like a bitch, but it was probably the most necessary of anything Arthur could want to do. If wounds like the ones John had crisscrossed indiscriminately down his back went septic, there was little that could be done. They _needed_ to be kept as clean as physically possible and the best thing they had to make sure of it was the whiskey. The last thing Arthur wanted to do was hurt John any more, and yet here he was.

“No, ‘m fine,” John ground out, and he didn’t exactly sound _convincing_ , but Arthur wasn’t going to push the issue – even if the last thing they needed was someone coming to investigate any screaming.

Squeezing John’s shoulder tighter – both as a reassurance and to keep him still – Arthur raised the bottle of whiskey and slowly let the amber liquid pour evenly across the entire expanse of John’s back.

There was a half-second delay before Arthur was able to actually see the moment the pain hit. It sounded like all the air was abruptly torn from John’s lungs in between one breath and the next. He made a peculiar keening, choking sound deep in his chest, a fine trembling starting up across his entire body.

Arthur allowed his face to twist into sympathy but he kept his hands steady, tightening his grip on John’s shoulder even more and making sure the whiskey got into each and every one of the open wounds across his back. Arthur glanced up sharply when he saw movement from John, releasing the younger man’s shoulder to instead grab his forearm before he could get it up to his mouth. He’d likely wanted to shove it in his mouth to muffle the sounds starting to escape his throat despite his best efforts, but Arthur wasn’t about to let him do that either.

His expression was stone, mouth pressed into a thin line as he set the whiskey bottle to the side as quickly as possible, moving to crouch beside John instead of behind him. He knew John well enough to tell from the reaction that even the man’s own stubbornness wasn’t going to be enough to keep him still through this. He wrapped one hand around the back of John’s head, pressing the other man’s face into his shoulder, and using his other arm to pin John against his own side just as he started to jerk and struggle.

John’s panting breaths were hot on his shoulder, one of his hands shooting up to wrap around the arm Arthur had holding his head with bruising force. Arthur kept himself steady, his own breathing even, and held the younger man through the worst of the pain as the alcohol burned through any infection that’d settled into the lashes. He was content to pretend that the sounds muffled by his shoulder didn’t even exist, not allowing John to struggle free from the grip Arthur had pinning the younger man against him.

Arthur’s gut sank and tied itself into knots, and he _hated_ himself with every fiber of his being as he twisted his head around to look over his shoulder, surveying the state of John’s back. It was bleeding again in places; the strength of the alcohol having aggravated the wounds as it flushed them out. He could see pus that had started to ooze from the swollen areas as well and he winced and set his jaw.

“Sadie,” he barked, relieved when he heard her start over toward them immediately. “Get that bucket you used to water the horses and rinse this off.”

Arthur sighed and grimaced when just those words were enough to have John start jerking against him in earnest. Thankfully, his other arm was pinned between them – otherwise Arthur was sure he’d have a black eye by this point at the least.

Sadie moved quickly, behind John with the pail only a few heartbeats later. She’d filled it upstream, which was smart, and directed a questioning glance to Arthur once she was ready. Arthur just nodded, fixing his grip on John. 

As Sadie poured the water over John’s back carefully, rinsing the blood, whiskey, and all else from wounds and skin alike, Arthur could feel the younger man’s every heaved breath, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. Once the pail was empty, Sadie set it to the side. Arthur could see the way she was looking at the mess of wounds on John’s back and when her gaze flicked up to meet his, he held it briefly before jerking his chin back towards the half-empty whiskey bottle. Sadie muttered a curse under her breath, but didn’t disagree. 

The second time the alcohol poured over the lashes, Arthur felt John sink his teeth into his shoulder and his expression twisted but otherwise he didn’t allow himself to react. Even that didn’t completely muffle the broken sounds being torn out of John and each one felt like it ripped a hole into Arthur’s chest. Even so, Arthur continued to hold John pinned against him, grateful that his strength hadn’t yet dwindled enough to give John the edge between the two of them. He wasn’t entirely certain whether John’s uncoordinated thrashing was an attempt to get _away_ , or to burrow deeper and hide himself in Arthur’s hold.

Sadie stepped back once she was satisfied, giving John a critical once over before nodding sharply to herself. She returned the bottle to the stone she’d grabbed it from, before hesitating at the bank, a question on her lips as she glanced back to Arthur. Arthur just gave a small jerk of his head to wave her off. He could handle John from here on, and John would feel much worse if it was Sadie he accidently lashed out at in his pain. Sadie’s mouth closed and her expression softened somewhat, her shoulders slumping in a sigh as she turned back toward the fire. Arthur just kept his hold on John as the residual burning pain undoubtedly continued, a fine trembling still wracking his body. When he looked down over John’s back though, he could see that the bleeding had slowed to a sluggish ooze, and that the redness and swelling had already lessened considerably. 

Arthur slowly and carefully released his hold on John once the other man had fallen completely limp, rightfully a little wary of John’s potential reaction. He wouldn’t even expressly blame John for decking him after that. He relaxed as the seconds ticked by and John remained a deadweight against him, still shaking with his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t even make an effort to lift his head away from Arthur’s shoulder, aside from dropping it sideways to at least give him room to breathe easier.

“Fuck,” he rasped a few minutes later, and Arthur winced, petting a hand down the back of John’s head soothingly for lack of other ideas. Just from that John already sounded exhausted again. “Next time, think I’ll take the sepsis.”

Arthur growled at that, not appreciating the sentiment whether or not it was a joke, but before he could put words to his protest both he and John were startled by the sound of a short, muffled yell behind them. Arthur instinctively twisted to shield John’s body with his own as they both jolted, one of his revolvers already half out of its holster before he even registered what he was seeing.

Sadie was standing over their bound captive, her hands clenched into fists and eyes alight with fury. Following her gaze down, Arthur’s brow rose when he saw the first three inches or so of her hunting knife embedded in the man’s right shoulder. He blinked slowly, not sure what in the hell had happened, but allowing himself to release his gun as John breathed an emphatic curse from behind him, having twisted around to look out from behind Arthur’s bulk.

“Bastard thought something was funny,” Sadie explained in the silence that’d blanketed camp – aside from the sharp, panting breaths of the overseer. Her voice was cold, and deadly, and Arthur reminded himself – not for the first time – to never under any circumstances piss her off. Both he and John wore near-identical dumbstruck expressions as she then leaned back over and wrenched her blade out of the man’s shoulder, wringing another garbled, breathless cry from him. 

“Don’t let ‘im bleed out ‘fore I get to have a chat,” Arthur said after a few beats’ hesitation. Surveying what he could see of the wound from where he was though, he didn’t think he needed to worry. Sadie just sniffed dismissively as she turned back to the pronghorn carcass after retrieving a different blade from her saddlebag.

Arthur gave a disbelieving shake of his head as he turned his attention back to John. He was glad to see that at least some of John’s trembling had eased – even if it was shock that had replaced some of the pain that’d been etched into the lines of his face. He was clearly appreciative as well, which Arthur could well understand. After a moment, he lightly nudged John in the side to gain his attention, simultaneously leaning over to grab the soap he’d brought over with him and offering it to John. John made a face but didn’t protest – likely knowing that Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to scrub him down personally.

He’d attempted to call Arthur’s bluff on that threat in the past and had learned better.

Arthur rocked back on his heels, keeping a careful eye on things and staying within arm’s reach just in case his help became necessary. Otherwise, though, he let John take care of getting himself cleaned off. Arthur wasn’t surprised when he noticed John giving his back a wide berth, and he didn’t comment on the observation either. That particular area was already as clean as it was going to get. The stream behind where John was seated ran a dingy brown for a fair few minutes – dirt, grime, and old blood swirling into the otherwise clear water. 

Arthur only moved closer again when John lifted his left ankle out of the water to start with, giving a small grimace as he crossed his leg over his opposite knee to get a good look at the sores that’d been worn into his skin by the shackles. John glanced up with his movement, eyes tired and dull again, and didn’t even offer a token protest as Arthur took over.

Deciding to be more concerned about that later, after all the more pressing injuries were seen to, Arthur individually checked each of the sores with gentle hands, making sure that none of them needed further debridement than just good old soap and water. Once he was satisfied with both ankles, Arthur sighed and cast a furtive glance up at the matted rat’s nest that was John’s hair.

“’M too tired to even care,” John pointed out, correctly interpreting the direction of Arthur’s gaze. His voice was more defeated than Arthur was comfortable hearing, and his eyes had adopted a pleading shine. Arthur, however, was well aware that the puppy-dog-eyes little Jack used to keep the entire camp wrapped around his finger had been inherited from his father, and he didn’t allow his expression to soften.

“Well _I_ gotta share a tent with ya. So I care,” he said, his tone matter of fact. John’s face fell and he gave a grumbled sigh, stubbornly pulling into himself.

In the end, Arthur tackled the problem himself – sure to keep up a steady stream of only half-playful bitching under his breath the entire time. More than once it took an inordinate amount of his self-control to keep himself from taking his knife to the tangled locks just to be done with it. Rinsing John’s hair was a particular problem, seeing as it was all but impossible to do so _without_ splashing his back or forcing him to bend over awkwardly. No matter how careful Arthur was, John ended up hissing between clenched teeth every few minutes, and each time Arthur would interrupt himself mid-complaint to murmur a quiet apology before he continued.

Finally, Arthur accepted that the kid was as clean as he was going to get. He helped John to stand without a word and helped him to move over to one of the flat, sun-warmed stones at the edge of the stream. John perched on the edge of it gingerly, and Arthur went about delicately patting his back dry before applying a liberal amount of the healing ointment that would hopefully keep any of the open wounds from getting any worse. After that it was only a matter of wrapping his entire torso with bandages – a task that _should_ have been fairly straight-forward. However, between wanting the bandage to be tight enough to support John’s ribs and _not_ wanting to put undue pressure on the lashes across his back, Arthur was caught in a balancing act that all too quickly bled over into frustration.

“Y’should tell me what an’ all happened,” John suggested, breaking the silence that’d fallen across the camp when Arthur grumbled an aggravated sigh and started the process of wrapping John’s torso over for the second time. He supposed he should count his blessings that at the very least John was still, for likely what was the first time in his life.

Arthur grunted and shrugged a nod to that, settling in with a sigh before he started speaking.

He explained to John how they’d just barely managed to escape Saint Denis after Charles’ distraction, stowing away onboard ship. Keeping his voice as even as he could, he outlined how they’d been shipwrecked, separated, and eventually reunited – half-dead on some shithole island. Throughout Arthur’s rather blunt retelling of events, John’s expression continually morphed between shock, disbelief, and horror, along with all manner of emotions in between. By the time he finished with their narrow escape from Guarma, he’d leaned back and away from John, reluctantly satisfied with how he’d gotten John’s torso, as well as both ankles, bandaged. He grunted as he pushed himself up and to his feet, moving back toward the stream to rinse his hands clean.

“Shit… Guess I’ll give y’all a pass on the delay then,” John mused, scratching at the beard he’d grown during his incarceration. Arthur barked out a scoff, wringing his hands dry and drifting back over towards the stone where John sat.

“Well thank ya kindly,” he deadpanned, which only caused John to roll his eyes, before sobering slightly as he considered Arthur with sharp eyes.

“What happened with the others while you was gone?”

Arthur smirked, glancing away from John long enough to tip his head into a nod in Sadie’s direction. John’s gaze followed the gesture and Sadie gave a small sigh as she stepped back from the neatly butchered pronghorn, sweeping her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. For a moment she just met John’s gaze in an impassive stare before her shoulders fell loose as she shook her head and moved to rinse her hands in the stream as well, speaking as she passed them.

“Me n’ Charles did what we could,” she said, tone becoming dark. Arthur just crossed his arms over his chest and ducked his chin into his chest, listening as she continued. “We got everyone out of Shady Belle just in time, and we found ourselves a place to lie low out in the swamp. Charles knew you’d been arrested, and about Lenny an’ Hosea but…the rest of ‘em just up and vanished for all we knew. Had no idea when or if they’d be back. We ended up robbin’ the morgue in Saint Denis to get Lenny an’ Hosea buried proper, and I _swear_ we kept an ear out John, but the longer we heard nothin’ we just assumed… I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” John protested immediately, grimacing as he twisted slightly to better face where Sadie had dropped heavily to sit on the opposite side of the stone. Arthur couldn’t help his own concerned glance in her direction – it wasn’t often he heard her that tired and worn. “Sounds like y’all had enough trouble to be gettin’ on with.”

After studying Sadie for a moment, Arthur gave his own sigh and shook his head, reaching out to tap John lightly underneath his chin, gesturing for him to tip his head back. John made a face but at least he complied, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he got a better look at the gruesome bruises splotched across his throat in the unmistakable arc of a noose. Arthur probed the area with careful, gentle fingers, watching John’s face for a reaction and mirroring the grimace he got from the younger man without really thinking about it before dropping his hands back to his sides. The bruises would likely be painful, and take quite some time to heal, but to his knowledge there was nothing to be done about them.

John cast a half-hearted reassuring grin over his shoulder at Sadie once Arthur had released his head and neck. The action only made Sadie scowl, even as she quickly leaned over and squeezed one of John’s hands.

“Javier ‘as the one that found out you was still alive,” Arthur picked the explanation back up after a moment, letting his gaze sweep across camp. He wasn’t sure what else he could do for John, but he felt pretty damn useless just standing there. A few heartbeats later saw him picking through the remains of the pronghorn carcass, looking for bones he could use to figure out a half-decent broth. At the very least it kept his hands busy while he kept talking. “Overheard a bunch’a Pinkertons talking ‘bout dropping you off at Sisika, just a couple’a days ago now.”

“Shit that was lucky,” John muttered, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees and ducking his head. Arthur took the opportunity to look over his shoulder and share a glance with Sadie. It was clear that neither of them knew exactly what to say, much less wanted to be the one to bring up Dutch’s ‘ _plan_ ’. Silence fell when both of them were apparently content to leave the matter for another time. 

Arthur scrounged up a few of the meatier bones and brought them over to his saddlebags, dropping them into the small pot he kept with his mess kit. He cleared his throat pointedly as he continued to paw through the saddlebag, and when he spoke in the next breath his voice was somewhat distracted. “Mrs. Adler, d’you happen to have a handful or two of oats you could set to soak?”

“Sure do.” Sadie stood immediately, speaking over the groan John gave as his head popped back up and turned accusingly in the older man’s direction.

“Arthur…” His voice was an interesting combination of a warning and a whine, but before he could go any further Arthur just waved the carrot he’d just pulled out of his saddlebag at him, not even bothering to look up.

“A strong wind could blow you over, Marston. If _I_ make you sick by not feedin’ you up proper, Susan’ll have my damn hide an’ you know it.”

“I’m _fine_ -,”

“When ‘as the last time you ate?” Arthur countered, finally looking up and turning to face John, meeting and holding his gaze stubbornly. His eyebrow arched as silence stretched between them, John’s jaw visibly clenching. He didn’t offer a response, instead choosing to glower in Arthur’s general direction instead. “Well?”

“Don’t know.” John muttered eventually under his breath. Arthur froze, his eyes narrowing slightly as the corners of his mouth twitched into a small frown.

He wasn’t sure exactly what answer he’d been expecting, but he _was_ sure that that wasn’t it.

Arthur’s emotions bounced around for a moment, torn between sympathy and outright righteous fury. He wasn’t about to press John about the matter though, not when even that small admittance had caused his shoulders to slump and his gaze to drop to the ground. After a few more heartbeats of silence, Arthur’s fury won out and his own gaze found the captive guard – still seated at the base, and tied to, the tree – without conscious thought.

He dropped his pot to the ground beside his saddlebag with a clatter that was loud enough to startle John. He didn’t pay that any attention though, stalking over to the overseer and lowering himself into a crouch inches away from his side.

The man’s eyes were glassy with pain as they shot up with his approach, before they narrowed into a glare. That didn’t last long though, all the color draining from his face as he made a seemingly unconscious effort to shy away from how close Arthur had gotten. Keeping his gaze and his expression steady, Arthur pulled his knife from the sheath on his belt in one smooth motion. 

He wanted to feel guilty for the vicious stab of satisfaction that swept through him with the overseer’s flinch just at the sight of the weapon, but in the end he couldn’t truly be bothered. Especially not right now.

Arthur deftly sliced through the gag muffling the man, asking a single gruff question as he tossed the material away. “When was the last time any of you bothered to feed him?”

The man’s mouth pressed into a thin line, defiance lighting behind the pain in his eyes. Arthur mentally forced himself to at least count to five. Then, he pressed the flat edge of his knife firmly against the bloody tear in the man’s shirt over his right shoulder. Almost instantaneously, the man’s eyes blew wide and his expression shattered, barely managing to strangle a cry of pain. Arthur didn’t allow his own expression to change or the pressure on the fresh wound to lessen, watching without an ounce of sympathy or pity as the man’s labored breaths became gasps and he tried his damnedest to twist away from the pain. 

“Three or four days,” the man forced out around a whimper, only a handful of seconds later. He squeezed his eyes shut and his whole body shuddered violently when Arthur finally pulled the blade away from the wound. He deftly wiped the blood from his knife with the hem of the other man’s shirt, listening silently as the man rambled on, his voice breathless. “He’s been in the sweatbox, they don’t get food in there. Not working; don’t need it.”

Arthur figured he was gonna have to start counting a lot higher than five to keep his temper in check. He gave a low growl deep in his throat but fought the instinct to look up and around toward John. He had to force himself to make the well-practiced motions of sliding his knife back into its sheath as he stood. Reasoning with himself that the longer it took him to get this broth put together and over the fire, the longer it would be before John could have it, he moved back over toward his saddlebags. Still, though, if he snapped the carrots he’d found into smaller pieces far more forcefully than they deserved, he didn’t comment on it; simply dropping them into the pot instead.

The silence that settled across the camp was heavy and uneasy. Sadie busied herself warming the oats she’d set to soak over the fire while Arthur continued to dig through his bags, looking for anything else that he could use to add extra nourishment to this broth. Lord only knew that John could use every bit he could get. Once he was satisfied with the pot’s contents he ferried it over to the stream, filling it the rest of the way with water carefully. He allowed himself to lightly ruffle John’s hair as he passed on his way to bring the pot over to the fire, smirking at the small aggravated noise John managed with that.

“At least you know what you’re doing,” Sadie offered lightly to break the silence, but Arthur just scoffed, frowning as he affixed the handle of the pot so it hung over the flames.

“Not particularly,” he said, the admittance only adding weight to the heaviness in his chest. “I’ve just managed to pick up a few bits an’ pieces over the years; enough to be passably useful.” Arthur glanced up curiously as John snorted as if in response to his comment. 

When he saw that John had forced himself to unsteady feet he started to take a step forward, only to stop short at the sharp glance John cut toward him. The fiery determination that had formed in John’s gaze, overtaking the way his eyes had glazed over with pain, was well-familiar. Arthur sighed, but knew better than to try to offer help when the stubborn fool was convinced none was necessary. Instead he contented himself with watching John’s progress toward the fire side carefully, ready to step in to catch him if need be.

“Arthur, you mother-hen everyone in camp,” John protested as he went, clearly trying to keep attention away from how he was struggling. It was obvious that he was trying for a playful tone – or at least a normal one – but not quite managing it. It didn’t seem that was going to deter him from making his point, whatever that may be. “Excepting yourself, of course. ‘Bits and pieces’ my ass…”

“Watch it Johnny-Boy or you’ll be walkin’ that ass of yours back to camp,” Arthur said, the warning in his tone falling completely and utterly flat when Sadie coughed suddenly around sound of disbelief.

“Bullshit,” John said smugly, adopting a shit-eating grin that brought at least a little bit of life back into his gaunt face. He paused long enough to gingerly lower himself to the ground near the fire, curling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. “’Sides, I don’t even know where camp _is_ so joke’s on you Morgan.”

“Don’t see how that’s my problem,” Arthur retorted, but the grin twitching onto his face negated any sternness in his voice – if there had even been any present to begin with. John’s grin just widened and he all but preened, which just caused Arthur to roll his eyes and reach out to roughly muss the younger man’s still-damp hair again as he plopped himself down a few inches to John’s right.

“You boys are ridiculous,” Sadie snorted as she moved to settle herself down to bracket John’s other side. She continued to stir the oats as they warmed and softened, the tin mug they were in nestled into the fire’s outer embers.

Arthur was content to let the comfortable silence settle over them, watching both John and Sadie in turn. He knew he’d done everything he could to try to lessen the chances of John’s injuries worsening, so now it was just the matter of getting him fed up proper and rested. And, of course, getting the lot of them back to Beaver Hollow without any unforeseen excitement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If no ones noticed by now the "comfort" portion of the hurt/comfort is a wonderful dynamic for these two boys in my opinion. I _personally_ don't think its out of character for either of these two fools, but lemme know what you think! I love and adore any and all feedback you're willing to give so don't be shy!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> Thank you all so much for all the wonderful comments for last chapter, I'm so glad you're all loving the way I write Arthur and John as much as I do. Brownie points to the commenter that pointed out my mistake in the last chapter, it's been fixed and I've told my sister-in-law ( _Sophie_ ) that she's not allowed to talk to me while I'm writing or editing anymore. Anyway, here's the next chapter; enjoy!

The silence didn’t end up lasting very long. Arthur had been content to relax for the first time since he’d left the tent that morning, lounging near the fire and close enough to John for their shoulders to brush if either of them sought the contact, even unconsciously. Arthur was painfully aware – as he stared into the flames, lost in thought – that though this casual closeness had been the norm for them for a decade, it had been years since he and John had been this comfortable with the other’s company. The knowledge that it had taken John getting hurt this badly for Arthur to pull his head out of his own ass seared through his very soul, turning it that much darker.

All three of them – he, John, and Sadie – all stiffened warily with the sudden sound of chains clattering together. Arthur looked sharply over his shoulder, eyes narrowing and mouth pressing into a thin frown when he saw that their prisoner had just shifted against the tree he was bound to, likely looking to take some of the weight off his injured shoulder. The haggard-looking man froze when he realized he’d garnered Arthur attention, swallowing thickly. After a few beats’ hesitation though, he opened his mouth to speak.

“Let me go.”

Arthur delicately arched an eyebrow, too surprised at the persuasive edge and sheer _confidence_ that the man’s voice had adopted for any other reaction. He reached out to the side to touch a steadying hand to John’s leg before the younger man could do anything other than give a surprised jolt and snap his gaze up to Arthur’s. They were still sharing an incredulous glance when the other man seemed to decide just to continue on despite the lack of response.

“You can have Marston, cart him back to wherever. But y’don’t need to get yourself involved with the trouble that comes with killin’ a lawman. You’ll forgive me, mister, but you don’t look to be in a state for dealing with that kinda hell raising.” Now more indignant than anything, Arthur looked back to the other man, his lip starting to curl into a scowl. Despite the way he was bound, and the blood that still seeped from the wound in his shoulder, the man found and held Arthur’s gaze with far more ease and confidence than he would’ve thought possible for any reasonably sane individual. He was well aware that both John and Sadie were now watching him intently, but he continued to hold the other man’s gaze, morbidly curious as to what else he had to say that he thought would help him. “You’re what; the boy’s daddy? Or is he your cock-sucking whore? I figured him t’be the type-,” the man stopped abruptly, cutting himself off when Arthur pushed himself sharply to his feet in one smooth motion, his gaze hardening into cold anger.

Luckily, Sadie had the sense to catch John’s arm before he could clamber up as well and undoubtedly find a way to hurt himself more. Even if she had stopped him from moving, John still gave a wordless snarl, and Arthur couldn’t blame him.

Still, he kept his own expression outwardly blank, giving a small shake of his head at the way the bound man continued to stubbornly hold his gaze despite shifting in his chains again. When Arthur was less than a foot away from where the man was seated – enough that his closeness was a threat all its own – he lowered himself into an easy crouch with a long sigh. His casually let his hands dangle between his knees as he considered the man in front of him, forearms braced against his thighs and cocking his head slightly to one side. He waited, curious to see if the man would get flustered by his lack of response and come off any information that Arthur wanted without him having to actually do any work for it.

True to expectation he was shifting uncomfortably again after a few moments pinned under Arthur’s unwavering stare, his whole body stiffening and coiling with tension. The sneer that formed on his face was laced with contempt and Arthur had to work to keep himself from smirking outright.

“Or you just a goddamn nursemaid? Maybe this rough and tumble gang of outlaws Marston’s apparently a part of will be smart enough to bargain. You and that hell-bitch over there won’t last long with the prices that’ll be on your heads for this,” the man said, incredibly smug as he gave a smirk of his own.

John’s raspy laugh was a harsh bark that seemed to echo through the trees that surrounded them, and, unable to help himself, Arthur allowed a slow, predatory smirk of his own to spread across his face. The other man must have finally recognized some of the danger behind it because _his_ smirk faded rapidly, his jaw audibly clicking shut. Arthur waited for John’s laughter to end in a muttered, yet still amused and heartfelt curse before he snorted a chuckle and spoke.

“Now I don’t believe you n’ me ever got a proper-like introduction, Mister…?” he trailed off expectantly, one corner of his mouth ticking up at the way the man’s eyes narrowed at the clearly mocking tone in his voice. The man made no effort to respond, but Arthur let the question dangle between them, gauging how much of an ordeal this was going to be. It would be better overall if the man just rolled over and got this over without all the fuss, but he clearly considered himself some sort of high-and-mighty authority. Arthur could be patient, though, and was content to wait the man out, but his attention shifted and he turned his head to the side when John spoke up.

“Nelson,” he chimed in, tone almost cheerful aside from the sharp, vindictive edge it had taken. Arthur made a show of giving John a nod and a wave, before turning his appraising eyes back to the other man, who was scowling now.

“ _Thank_ you John,” he said sincerely, which just earned him a snigger from John’s direction. “Mr. Nelson, it is a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance. My name’s Arthur. Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur paused, watching carefully for a reaction. The only thing of interest to him was whether or not the Pinkertons had shared any of their knowledge of the gang, or perhaps even future plans, with the men at Sisika when they’d delivered John to their care. He would’ve thought the Pinkertons would have managed to get a hold of pictures of them by now, or at least an artist’s rendition, but Nelson clearly hadn’t recognized him.

But the man _did_ recognize his name.

Arthur’s predatory smirk made a reappearance as Nelson’s face paled, blood draining from it during a hitched breath. When he’d been younger he’d reveled at the sight of that fear in his enemies. These days, he was more content using it as a tool if necessary – generally in an attempt to avoid needless bloodshed if he had the opportunity – instead of seeking it out for its own sake. The fear was doubly good to see here because it meant two things: that Nelson had at least a few brain cells to rub together, and that he’d heard about him from _somewhere_. His money was on the Pinkertons and he was willing to wager that his name wasn’t all Nelson had heard.

“Well now Mr. Nelson, I do believe we’ve got a better understandin’ between us,” Arthur said cheerfully, continuing to stare the other man down. He watched as Nelson’s breaths started coming faster, his eyes flicking rapidly across their surroundings before he swallowed and his eyes found Arthur’s again. Somehow, he didn’t seem to have quite the same confidence as he had a few minutes ago. “Correct me if I’ve got this wrong but…” Arthur cast a quick, pointed glance over his shoulder to John, who had turned to watch the conversation with a dark expression. “I’ve already _got_ Marston. Don’t think I quite care to get yer blessin’ on the matter.” Despite the polite bewilderment that dominated his tone, Arthur made sure it didn’t completely hide the icy anger lurking underneath.

“I…” Nelson started, flustered and defensive, but before he could go any further Arthur raised a finger and cut him off.

“Mr. Nelson, you will be well aware when I ask you a question I’m expectin’ to be answered,” Arthur’s voice lowered in warning, which was enough to make the bound man’s jaw snap shut again, his lips thinning as he pressed them together. Arthur waited a beat and then continued, allowing his voice return to the deceptively conversational tone he’d had before. “Yer concern for my wellbeing is touchin’, truly, but I’ve been gettin’ by a fair few years now with a price on my head. Las’ I heard it was up to five thousand dollars. An’ shit, that was _before_ all that noise down in Saint Denis. All said, an’ I don’t think one more dead lawman is gonna make much of a difference.”

Nelson was silent at that, evidently not keen on arguing that particular point any further. Arthur continued to watch him, giving the man a few moments to really let the reality of his situation sink in.

“You might’a missed the finer points of the plan las’ night, slung across the back of Mrs. Adler’s horse as you were – and I do believe you owe her an apology, but we’ll get to that later. I ain’t about to drag you back and forth across a handful of states so’s you can try your hand at bargainin’ with ol’ Dutch. Truth be told even if I did, it’d still end up you an’ me havin’ this same conversation together, so I figure best just t’ get it over with. I’m gonna give you an hour or so though, an’ I want you t’ think long and hard ‘bout how much pain you reckon you wanna be in durin’ your last moments. Try an’ be smart about it; unlike you I don’ get satisfaction outta makin’ other people hurt.” The last part of Arthur’s statement was downright icy, and he snorted to himself when he saw that Nelson just flinched away from him in response. In a mockingly transparent ‘reassuring’ gesture, Arthur reached forward and clapped Nelson on the shoulder. Specifically, the right shoulder.

The bound man’s entire body seized and he strangled an agonized sound deep in his throat, his expression twisting. Arthur just patted the shoulder a few times, feigning sympathy, before using that same shoulder as leverage to push himself to his feet. 

Arthur didn’t say another word or look back over his shoulder when Nelson couldn’t completely muffle his pained noise at that. Instead he just continued back over to the fire, where John and Sadie still sat, wiping the blood from his hand onto his pants absently. The smirk Sadie shot at him was pure venom and Arthur gave her a small, pointed nod, before lowering himself back to the ground at John’s side with a relieved hum. John was watching him, and to most his expression would have probably been unreadable, but Arthur knew the younger man too well for that.

Most concerning was the residual fear that still threatened in how bright his eyes were. That was muted, though, and could be dealt with later on. Arthur picked up on his relief too; his gratitude. Of course, it was conflicted by a bitter fury that Arthur could understand just as well. John liked to fight his own battles, even if he shouldn’t – or _couldn’t_ – no matter the circumstances. He wanted to be the one putting his fist through Nelson’s skull, but knew better than to think Arthur would let him in his current state.

Arthur arched a questioning eyebrow when John continued to stare at him, but the younger man just made a noncommittal noise under his breath and waved him off. Arthur watched him for another beat before reaching forward for the tin cup of oats Sadie had left in the embers of the fire. Using the spoon she’d left in them, he stirred to test the consistency. Satisfied that they were soft and about as close to the consistency of oatmeal they were going to get, he passed the cup over to John. 

“Slow,” Arthur warned, giving a slight frown when John’s eyes immediately brightened and he snatched the cup from him, the spoon halfway to his mouth before Arthur could even blink. “Know you’re hungry, but makin’ yourself sick ain’t gonna do you any favors.”

John scowled but obediently dumped half of what was already heaped onto his spoon back into the cup before ferrying it the rest of the way to his mouth. Arthur gave a small nod to himself, moving to check the broth next. It would be a few hours yet before it was ready, but at least the oats would be filling in the meantime.

By the time John had eaten his fill of the oats – a depressingly small amount that only went to show how little he’d had the opportunity to eat these past few weeks – he was barely able to keep his eyes open. John looked like he wanted to fight the exhaustion, but Arthur just shooed him off toward the tent to rest. Sleep was the best thing to help him heal, and he had more opportunity now than he would once they left their extended stay at this camp and continued on toward Beaver Hollow.

Sadie had gotten to work cooking the pronghorn instead of sitting idle, and Arthur watched her for a time; lending help if necessary but otherwise selfishly choosing to take advantage on the ability to rest as well, lounging near the fire. He hated that he was getting to the point that he’d rather try and justify a lazy day instead of risking straining his lungs and dealing with the painful aftermath. He stubbornly refused to admit to himself what that meant, though – to consider just how rapidly he was declining and how much worse this would get.

Eventually, when those thoughts became too insistent at the forefront of his mind, he let out a ragged, heavy sigh and forced himself back to his feet. His expression smoothed into nothing as he turned and started toward where poor, unfortunate Mr. Nelson was still bound to the tree at the edge of their camp.

The man’s eyes snapped to him with his approach, his eyes wary and entire body shifting and shying away. The rest of his expression at least tried to save face, though it wasn’t particularly effective.

“Mr. Morgan…” he started, and Arthur snorted, able to hear how rapidly the man was trying to think in his voice. He didn’t pause in pulling his hunting knife from the sheath hanging from his belt, using it to deftly slice through the rope securing Nelson to the tree. His arms almost immediately dropped limp to his sides without the rope to hold them above him.

“It’s ‘ _Mister Morgan_ ’ now, is it?” he taunted, giving a slight roll of his eyes and reaching down to grab the man by the collar of his shirt. He grunted, having to yank Nelson the entire way to his feet, and then give him a slight shove toward the camp fire. Nelson cursed and stumbled in the shackles that tethered his ankles together, and Arthur didn’t have to do more than prod the back of one of the man’s legs with the toe of his boot to send him to his knees. Nelson just barely managed to get his bound arms in front of him in time to catch himself. Despite the pained hissed that resulted from the jolt when the man put weight on his injured shoulder, Arthur’s face remained impassive.

“You decided whether you wanna die quick or slow?” he questioned, having released the man’s shirt as he fell and now looking back up toward Sadie and arching an eyebrow. “You still got those keys?”

Without a word Sadie gave a nod and moved to retrieve them, and only a minute or so later Arthur was catching them against his chest with his own nod of thanks.

“Go to hell,” Nelson ground out as if the latter exchanged hadn’t even occurred. He didn’t bother attempting to get off his knees but he did at least manage to straighten and take the weight off his injury, turning his head around to glare at Arthur.

“Eventually I’m sure.” Arthur’s tone was deceptively light, his expression still empty, which just earned him a scowl. “Likely sooner rather than later. Neither of us are particularly good men Mr. Nelson; only difference I see is ‘at I don’t go around pretendin’ to be.”

“You’ve got Marston. What else could you possibly want from me?” Nelson demanded, in lieu of an actual response.

“Couple’a things,” Arthur said, reaching down to forcibly turn Nelson’s head back around so that he was looking in Sadie’s direction. He gestured to her pointedly. “Firstly I believe you owe the lady an apology, callin’ her such unsightly names.”

“You’re joking.” Despite Arthur’s prodding, Nelson’s head whipped back around, his expression showing a mix of disbelief and aggravation. Arthur didn’t even blink, crossing his arms over his chest. Sure, it wasn’t particularly _necessary_ , but it surely felt deserved after just what they’d witnessed of Nelson’s habit of belittling and humiliating John back on Sisika.

A few feet away Sadie just chuckled, a now-familiar fire flashing in her eyes again as she turned to better face them. “Well I ain’t about to be opposed to havin’ a man on his knees beggin’ forgiveness.

Nelson scowled at her, his lip curling. Arthur let himself wait a beat or two before he stooped down and grabbed the chain binding Nelson’s wrists, using the keys to unlock it. Once the man’s wrists were free, he wasted no time in latching onto the right one and twisting the arm into a painful hold behind his back.

As expected, Nelson cried out with the movement and pressure on his already injured shoulder, arching his back in an attempt to alleviate the strain with no luck. Again Arthur waited, this time for the man’s sharp, panting breaths to ease, and when no apology seemed forthcoming he yanked the arm further up the man’s back. The shuddering, breathless gasp in response to that was edged with agony, the shoulder joint visibly straining in its socket and fresh blood beginning to drip from the stab wound.

“Christ, shit, _fine_ ,” the man spat, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing the words out from behind clenched teeth. “My sincerest _goddamn_ apologies, ma’am!”

“Now that weren’t so hard,” Arthur chastised, releasing the man’s arm and taking a step back with no warning. Nelson immediately deflated and doubled over, cradling the wounded arm to his chest. Arthur winked to the vicious smirk Sadie directed at him, before prodding Nelson roughly in the side with his boot. “You gonna answer my questions like a good boy, or ‘m I gonna have t’ tie you to another tree an’ take a knife to ya?”

“I don’t know anything,” Nelson ground out, not straightening from his hunched position or making any effort to look in Arthur’s direction. Arthur just arched an eyebrow. 

“Mighty confident of ya when y’don’t even know what I’m askin’ about yet. ‘Less you just always readily admit to bein’ that stupid.”

Nelson gave a low, wordless hiss, but otherwise made no effort to offer up a response. Arthur huffed a sigh, shaking his head. No matter how intense his anger at this man and what he’d done, and how sorely he deserved it, part of Arthur still wasn’t comfortable going around inflicting pain for pain’s own sake. It was admittedly a small part, and one he was well-used to ignoring, but it existed none the less.

Unbidden, the memory of poor Mr. Downes’ beaten, bloody face filled his mind and he frowned, acutely aware of the pain that laced his next inhale.

Still, he reminded himself that this was different. This wasn’t an innocent man in a bad situation, this wasn’t about _money_. This was a last-ditch effort to stay one step ahead of the people bound and determined to exterminate what was left of his family. The man in front of him was in no way innocent. The way Arthur saw it, his soul was already well and truly damned, and doing whatever he could to try and protect his family couldn’t possibly make it any worse.

When he finally did move he gave no indication of any hesitation. He aimed a much harsher kick to Nelson’s side, able to feel bone give beneath his boot. Nelson strangled a sound of pain as he was pitched sideways into the dirt and leaf-litter. In the next moment Arthur had reached down and rolled Nelson onto his back, lowering himself to brace a knee firmly against the chest of the man beneath him. Nelson’s expression twisted and he squirmed under Arthur’s weight, his breaths already no more than ragged, shallow panting. Arthur reached down and wrapped his hand threateningly around the other man’s throat, ignoring the way Nelson’s left hand tightened around his wrist.

“Y’see, Mr. Nelson,” Arthur started conversationally, his expression remaining level as he met and held Nelson’s wide gaze. “Way I figure it, those fellers that dropped Marston at that Penitentiary must’a told y’all somethin’ or other. Real cocky government types from the ‘Pinkerton Detective Agency’.” Arthur’s voice turned mocking, even as he eyed Nelson’s face for any sign of a reaction. He nodded to himself when the other man’s lips thinned and his jaw clenched. “They’ve been a real pain in my ass, an’ I’d appreciate it if you’d relay what and all they told you about me, Marston, an’ our friends.”

“I don-,”

Before Nelson could even finish his comment, Arthur tightened his grip around the man’s throat, causing him to choke and splutter. Dragging his head a few inches up off the ground, Arthur slammed his fist square into Nelson’s face once, twice, then three times in rapid, vicious succession. Bone audibly cracked, likely from the man’s nose, and blood sprayed into the air.

When Arthur released his fist, shaking out his fingers with no real concern, he surveyed the visible damage to Nelson’s face. The man’s eyes had become dazed and glassy, half-lidded and unfocused. Blood poured freely from both nostrils as well as a split in his bottom lip. For a moment he was worried he’d knocked the man unconscious, or at least somewhere near to it, but then he felt the man’s chest stutter around a moan beneath his knee, eyelids fluttering in an attempt to blink, and hand still scrabbling weakly at Arthur’s wrist.

“I’m not what you would call a patient man, Mr. Nelson,” Arthur warned, his voice having turned cold and showing no reaction to the other man’s clear distress. He did loosen his grip on Nelson’s throat, but only after he saw the man’s face beginning to darken and felt him struggle to swallow around his hand.

“They only met with the Warden,” Nelson gasped, closing his eyes as he grimaced. His nails dug into Arthur’s wrist and he vainly tugged again, but Arthur pretended that he didn’t even feel it. “Somethin’ about extra security. Guard patrols, coastal lookouts. Seemed to think Marston would have people coming for him. That’s all we got told, I swear.”

“Don’t explain how you knew enough to recognize me by name now does it?” Arthur pointed out dispassionately, the words not really a question. His eyes narrowed when Nelson wheezed, struggling in the dirt when his hand tightened threateningly around his neck again.

“Please…” The whine caused Arthur to snort, anger flaring hot in his gut. All the pain this man had inflicted on John and who knew how many others, and he couldn’t stomach even a fraction of it.

“You strike me as the type to listen in when ya shouldn’t,” Arthur continued on as if the man hadn’t spoken. “What’d you hear?”

“Nothin’!”

“Bullshit,” Arthur said succinctly, releasing Nelson’s throat and pushing off of him with no warning. He immediately choked and spluttered, rolling onto his side and curling in on himself but otherwise making no effort to move.

For a few moments, Arthur stood back and watched, letting the man stew. He reached into a belt pouch for a cigarette and a match, lighting the latter against the sole of his boot in a practiced motion. He held the small flame up to the end of the cigarette, puffing on it a few times to get it smoldering before he shook out the match and tossed it. He savored the nicotine in his lungs for a brief moment before releasing the smoke and glancing up.

The tent John had disappeared into was silent – with any luck he was sleeping through this. Sadie was busying herself with something over by the horses, not paying him or Nelson any undue attention. Coughing around a small sigh, Arthur took another pull from his cigarette and returned his attention to Nelson, who hadn’t made a sound or twitched in the slightest since Arthur had stepped away. He truly hoped this ended up being worth all the effort he was going through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter was so hard for me to write? We're shown more than once in-game that even a high honor Arthur is willing to go to some serious lengths so long as it keeps his family safe, no matter how conflicted he tries not to feel about it so that's what I drew on for this. As always, feel free to let me know what you're thinking, I love seeing the comments that you guys take the time to leave for me. Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> So, _so_ very sorry for the delay... I had some personal medical issues that meant I needed surgery and I'm just now really starting to get back in the swing of things. Chapters might come a little bit slower as I recover but they most certainly will keep coming.
> 
> That out of the way, thank you all so much for the overwhelmingly positive comments and all the kudos for the last chapter and the story as a whole! Hope you enjoy this new chapter as well.

In the grand scheme of things it didn’t take Arthur very long at all to weasel the information he wanted to know out of Mr. Nelson. The Pinkertons had been especially concerned about the likelihood of the gang attempting to rescue John, but they’d also seen it as an opportunity. The disaster in Saint Denis had left them little in the way of a trail to follow – aside from John who’d been distinctly unhelpful. The shootout in Lakay hadn’t yielded them any results, so their next plan had been to offer out John. That hadn’t played to their favor either – not that Agent Milton realized why, in Arthur’s estimation. The gang couldn’t exactly all for bait they didn’t know existed. The agents had explained to the Warden that they’d had police in Saint Denis patrolling the river’s edge near the city, while the Pinkertons themselves planned to stake out Van Horn and its surroundings. Ironically, Arthur figured that must have been the caravan Javier had stumbled upon. Nelson ended up telling him that despite all the extra security the Pinkertons had demanded, the prison’s guards had only put up with the seemingly-needless extra work for a week at most before abandoning the additional patrols. While it was all good to know, and certainly explained some things, Nelson hadn’t been able to give him anything to indicate the Pinkertons’ next move, no matter how hard Arthur pressed. In the end, Arthur had decided to cut his losses and snapped the man’s neck with no warning or fanfare.

Disposing of the body in a stretch of forest a few miles to the north had been a chore, but a necessary one if he wanted to keep their tracks covered. It’d been dusk when Arthur had killed the man, making it less difficult to stay hidden as the light faded. He’d slung Nelson’s body over Canyon’s rump, draped the pronghorn skin over top, and rode the mare bareback away from camp until he found a suitable spot. He waited until he saw obvious signs of nearby scavengers, and heard coyotes yipping and whining in the distance before shoving the body off his horse and scattering a few scraps from the pronghorn to draw the coyotes in.

With luck, nature would take care of the problem entirely, but even if it didn’t they’d be long gone before anyone would think to link a corpse in the woods of northern Lemoyne back to John’s disappearance from Sisika.

Arthur shook his head, absently patting Canyon's shoulder as he left her hitched near Bob and moved toward the glow of the camp fire.

He paused, frowning, when he realized that John was awake and seated across from Sadie. The younger man was hunched in on himself, holding a steaming tin mug between both of his hands and staring into the flames in front of him. Somehow he managed to make it seem as if he wasn't actually seeing them at all.

For a moment, Arthur hesitated, searching out Sadie's gaze with his own. Her expression was dark, and Arthur flicked his eyes back to John a few beats later, his frown deepening.

He would have expected John to still be sleeping, as much as he clearly needed the rest. Instead he looked just as haggard as he had when he'd slipped into the tent earlier this afternoon.

"He tell you anything?"

Arthur took a step forward into the firelight then, not surprised that John had picked up on his approach even with how distant he seemed. He cleared his throat pointedly for lack of any other ideas as he lowered himself to sit a few inches to John's right, running a hand slowly along his chin.

“Couple'a things," he said, glancing up when John just snorted to that. "Nothin' too surprisin’. Pinkertons wanted t'use you as bait, told the guards at Sisika to keep up some extra patrols but turned out they was lazy bastards. They also didn't figure on us not knowin' where you'd been hauled off to."

John evidently didn't have a response to that, continuing to stare into the fire. Arthur watched him for a moment, and his next statement came fumbling out of his mouth despite him not having even considered the words beforehand. "The bastard's dead an' I left the body for the coyotes. 'S over."

"Sure don't feel like it."

John's quiet words hit Arthur with all the force of a run-away train and he flinched, looking away sharply. He was well aware that Sadie had frozen, turned toward them. She looked like she wanted to say something, but no words were forthcoming, and the silence hung heavily over their camp. Arthur wasn't sure what in God's name he could possibly say to that. He still didn't know exactly what John had been through - sure his injuries pieced together part of the story, but Arthur knew all too well the horrors that could be inflicted without leaving any sort of mark or scar.

"John," he started eventually, his voice heavy but determined to offer something. Before he could come up with _what_ though, John was speaking over him, still staring blankly into the flames.

“I couldn't stand bein’ alone anymore," he admitted, voice empty of any type of inflection. And still it wavered, which only showed the depth of the emotion he was trying to keep at bay. His hands tightened around the tin mug to the point that his knuckles were white, and Arthur felt a lump form in his throat, having to concentrate on keeping his breathing even through his nose. "I'd start to wake up an' I kept thinkin' I was back in that damn shed an' it was like I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't _nothin'_. I heard Sadie movin' around out here and I started babblin' and beggin' to be let out. I was sure she was just another one of them guards. I was just in the goddamn _tent_ Arthur.”

Arthur wasn't sure had have been able to speak even if he could think of something to say to that. Horror and anger both were cold and heavy in his gut, cementing him to the ground. Even with the few feet of space between them Arthur could see that John was trembling and no matter how desperately he wanted to offer some form of comfort, the fear of making matters worse kept him still and silent. He wasn't sure he could stomach it if John flinched away from _him_.

John squeezed his eyes shut, pulling in a long, shaking breath. It didn't seem like he was able to say any more at the moment either. Arthur glanced up, hoping he could muster some manner of reassurance, but any and all words died in his throat when he saw tears sliding down John's cheeks.

His sudden movement caused a hitch in his breathing that sent fire searing through his chest, but Arthur ignored both that and his own fears as he closed the space between him and John. He wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him tightly to his chest. Words had never been his strong suit, he'd fumbled his way through enough awkward conversations in his life to come to terms with that. But if John was scared of being alone, Arthur could at the very least do everything in his power to make it clear that he wasn't.

Not anymore.

For a few brief moments John froze completely still, muscles tensing. Before Arthur could start to rethink his plan, though, the younger man fell limp and he pulled in a long, shuddering breath. Arthur made an approving sound when John ducked his head and tucked it beneath Arthur's chin, hiding his face. He felt one of John's hands grab a fistful of his shirt again, and he coughed a sigh when he felt the trembling that had started in John’s shoulders.

"'M sorry." John's voice, when it came a few long minutes later, was thick with emotion and miserable. Arthur brushed his hair back, frowning, but before he could voice his protest John was continuing. "I shouldn't... I'm not a damn kid. I shouldn't _be_ like this but I... I'm still..."

John rasped a frustrated growl, finally setting his tin cup to the side and using the newly freed hand to scrub across his face. Arthur made a quiet sound of disagreement, squeezing him gently.

"'S alright to be scared John," he said, his voice coming out as a low rumble. He wasn't surprised when John stiffened at those words and started to pull away. He didn't let him. "No one here gonna fault you for that. Not after the shit you been through. Doesn't make you weak. Doesn't make you any less of a man.”

"Shit," John mumbled into his chest, slowly relaxing again. His breathing seemed to ease, though, and Arthur too loosened his grip slightly. Though, he didn't make any effort to actually pull away, instead just shifting himself and John both around so they were sat more comfortably, side by side facing the fire. Arthur kept one arm looped around John's shoulders and the younger man didn't fight the pull in the slightest, just leaning heavily into Arthur's side.

"What would I do without you, brother?"

Arthur froze at John's mumbled, barely articulated question. He wasn't even sure he'd been intended to hear it in the first place, but a traitorous flash of pain seared through his chest served as a cruel reminder that in all likelihood John wouldn't have to wait long to find out. It took a concentrated effort to keep a sudden wave of despair from overtaking him, the indignant anger that he and John reconciled _now_ \- when he was teetering on the edge of death’s door - and not sooner. Really though, he should count himself lucky that a John was still rattled enough that he didn’t pick up on the sudden weight to the silence between them. Arthur could feel Sadie’s eyes on him, almost seeming to urge him to say something, but he just gave a small shake of his head without bothering to fully look up to her. John clearly was having a hard enough time shouldering his own problems at the moment, and Arthur wasn't about to heap his on top before he absolutely had to. It wasn't like his cough was exactly conspicuous, and John wouldn't be placated with round-about answers for very long. He didn't see a reason to bring it up now.

Arthur shook himself from his thoughts when John huffed a heavy sigh with a grimace, his eyes still closed. Clearing his throat, Arthur reached down and snagged the cup John had been holding with his free hand, offering it back to the younger man pointedly.

“Tell ya what, Johnny-Boy. You finish up this broth, while I go sample some'a this venison Mrs. Adler’s been workin' on, an' then I'll join you in the tent so hopefully you can get some rest."

John pulled in another deep breath before he nodded, blinking his eyes open and reorienting himself. After a moment he reluctantly pushed himself to sit up on his own instead of leaning against Arthur, taking the offered cup in both hands. Arthur patted his shoulder gently as he dropped his arm, watching until John brought the cup to his lips and sipped from it. When he gave a slight nod to himself and looked back around, Sadie was already holding out a half-full can of sweet corn and a venison steak between two biscuits to him.

"Mrs. Adler, you're too kind, "Arthur said after a surprised beat of hesitation, not commenting on the way she rolled her eyes in response.

"Least I can do," she shrugged after a moment, before looking away from him to instead scan their surroundings. "'Think it'll be safe to camp here another day? It'd probably do us some good to wait a while longer before startin’ the ride back to Beaver Hollow."

Sadie's eyes flicked to John as she spoke, and Arthur started to shrug a nod of agreement before he glanced up at John's voice.

"I'm _fine_.” The words were muttered under his breath, likely already knowing that neither Arthur nor Sadie would be even retag remotely convinced. Arthur didn't disappoint, snorting into the can of corn. John scowled, glowering into his cup, but didn't push the matter further. 

“I don't reckon it'll be any trouble," Arthur said, responding to Sadie instead of bothering to protest John's half-hearted commentary. "I been out twice an’ ain't seen anyone that looks like they’d be tryin' to hunt down a bunch’a outlaws. We’ll check again in the mornin’ just to be sure.”

"Sounds good." Sadie nodded her understanding, giving a small sigh of her own as she lounged back onto her bedroll and stretched. "Both of us had a coffee pot handy so's I went ahead an’ poured the rest of that broth into one of 'em. Make it easier to bring along."

"Thank ya kindly. "Arthur said, glancing back towards John as he discarded the empty vegetable can off to the side. The younger man had been sipping on the broth off and on, but he was starting to look dangerously drowsy again, his eyes half closed and heavily lidded. Arthur wasn't surprised, but he was glad that he seemed to have shaken off the worst of his distress.

After no more than a few minutes, Arthur tapped John gently on the arm, holding his hand up in an unthreatening gesture when he saw how violently John startled, his eyes suddenly wide and bright when his head whipped around.

"…shit." John mumbled mostly to himself after taking a few beats to calm himself, giving his head a forceful shake. Arthur hadn't needed or wanted any more proof of how unsettled and downright _jumpy_ John was.

"C'mon," Arthur entreated instead of commenting on the reaction, leveraging himself to his feet and offering a hand down to John. "Le's get ya rested up. Do us both some good."

John's expression pinched as he stared at Arthur's hand, but thankfully he didn't seem to have it in him to protest. Arthur grunted when John latched onto his hand and pulled himself up. He ended up needing to catch John's opposite elbow when he swayed precariously once on his feet, and he knew better than to take offense when John snarled under his breath and jerked his elbow out of Arthur's grip. Instead he just snorted and shook his head, ducking it to follow John into the tent.

"Goodnight Mrs. Adler. You wake me if there's any trouble."

"Will do," Sadie said, her voice carrying through the tent flaps as they fell back shut.

"This' ridiculous," John muttered mutinously as he dropped onto his bedroll with a grunt that he didn't bother trying to hide. Arthur could just barely make out his shadowed figure in the firelight that managed to filter its way through the  
tent canvas, hunched over with his knees pulled up, head ducked and buried in them. Arthur sighed, releasing the tension in his shoulders as he dumped his hat, satchel, and gun belt off to the side before heavily sitting back on his own bedroll.

"Quit bein' so damn hard on yerself." he said firmly, rolling his eyes to John's clearly audible scoff. "I mean it you fool. Ain't no reason t' keep beatin' on yerself; everyone else's already taken care of it. I gotcha now, not about t' let anything happen. Sleep."

"They didn't let me for the longest, "John said quietly after a lengthy stretch of silence. Arthur shifted closer, frowning at how empty John's voice sounded. "Them Pinkertons. Thought it'd make me talk, or somethin' I guess. But I didn't tell 'em shit Arthur, I promise."

"Never thought you did," Arthur said, fighting to hide the sympathy and the pity that surged through him with a gruff mumble. John knew him well enough to see straight through it, but they could both choose to ignore that particular fact. He could feel John's piercing gaze pinned on him more than he could see it. "I know better'n that."

"If Micah says a goddamn word..."

"If Micah opens his fucking mouth I'll shut it for him," Arthur growled before John could finish. John just sighed to that, as if Arthur had only proved him right with his reaction.

"'S long as Dutch don't listen to him I guess, "John said eventually, almost sounding like an afterthought. Arthur felt his mouth press into a thin line and he very pointedly said nothing. John evidently took that as a response on its own. "I wish you'd just tell me whatever this is I'm not gonna like. Waitin' feels worse."

"Ain't sure you'll still think so after I tell ya," Arthur admitted, before nodding pointedly down to the bedroll. "Sleep, Marston."

John sighed but relented, uncurling himself to instead bundle up underneath his blanket, grunting and pawing pointedly at Arthur without bothering to uncover his hand until the older man relented as well, rolling his eyes as he laid down a few inches away.

John wasn't shy at all about plastering himself to Arthur's side as soon as possible, releasing a shaking breath as his eyes closed and the tension drained out of him. Arthur gave a small nod to himself when he felt that, reaching over to lightly ruffle John's hair. The younger man had burrowed his head underneath Arthur's closest arm, but try as he might Arthur couldn't muster up any actual aggravation. Arthur closed his eyes, slowly managing to relax himself as he focused on the sounds of the nearby stream, the owls in the trees above them, and John's even, slow breathing to his right. He almost had managed to ease into a doze before John's quiet, uncertain voice caused his eyes to snap open, instantly alert.

"Dutch… He didn't send you off to come get me, did he?"

For a few torturous beats Arthur was frozen, staring up at the tent canvas and utterly at a loss for what to say. He'd wanted some more time to sort out his thoughts before attempting this conversation; think about how to break it to John as gently as possible. Now John had caught him completely off guard and anything he could have possibly said was lodged in his throat. The silence stretched, Arthur biting his lip when he felt John's breathing stutter against him, the younger man swallowing audibly.

"I thought... I wanted to think I'd imagined it but...but back in Saint Denis, when I was arrested…it was like he had a chance to do something, Arthur, t' help me but he, he just _watched_. Turned an' _left_. You're a piss-poor liar though - knew when you reacted t' my ramblin' the other night about Dutch sending you after me that I hadn't imagined it." John's voice had cooled, obviously an attempt at keeping himself steady, but Arthur still picked up on the tremor. He had to swallow thickly before he could even think about responding, still keeping himself stiff and unmoving.

"It weren't that he wasn't gonna come get ya." Arthur didn't know why it surprised him that his first, instinctual reaction was to come to Dutch's defense, even now. "He just... He wanted more information before sendin' anyone. Didn't want t' lose anyone else before he was sure what in all was going on exactly."

"You still make Dutch's excuses better than Dutch does," John said, and the depth to the sadness in his voice had Arthur mumbling a forceful curse under his breath, closing his eyes again. "I'd be swingin' tomorrow if it was up to him."

"There w's no way for him to know that, "Arthur said quickly. He still wasn't entirely sure why it was so important to him that John didn't completely pin the blame for this mess on Dutch. Then again, they'd already lost Hosea, so it was no wonder how far he was willing to stretch to keep their little family from fragmenting any more. "Javier only said there was _talk_ , an'…"

"And talk weren't enough? "John demanded, clenching his fist where it rested on his side as snakes started up in his hands. Arthur opened his mouth, but he wasn't quite sure there was any arguing against that. Slowly, after a few beats of tense silence, Arthur closed his mouth and his eyes as he deflated. That reaction did nothing to calm John's fury either-it was that unspent rage that was causing the younger man to shake now, unlike earlier when it had been the result of pain.

"You're right t' be angry, "Arthur said quietly after another moment, frowning when John just snorted, giving his head a small shake against Arthur's chest.

"Damn right I am-,"

"John..."

"Is this how far he's gone, Arthur?" John evidently had enough anger-fueled energy to push himself into a sitting position in the middle of the tent. There was more life blazing in his eyes than Arthur had seen thus far, but he could only feel so relieved when it was because of anger. John swept his hair back out of his face with one sharp movement, and Arthur took the chance to cough out a sigh and sit up slowly as well, rubbing his eyes. "We both know he's been off for a while. Hell even..." John's voice broke suddenly and he sucked in a sharp breath as his expression fractured. When he continued a beat later, his voice was quieter. "Even Hosea knew. An' now the old man's gone? It don't take a genius to figure out that there's not much left to turn him around."

"So what, y'just want t' give up on Dutch an' leave everyone to fend fer themselves?" Arthur shot back, feeling his own temper start to rise despite his best efforts. "Now? After everything?"

"Don't seem like Dutch got too broken up about givin' up on me," John's anger was as unrelenting as ever, and it was all Arthur could do to hold his gaze just as stubbornly as his nostrils flared and pain lanced through his chest. 

It went against everything Arthur believed in to even consider walking out on Dutch, a man that had all but raised him. Evidently, John was able to make out some, if not all, of the conflict that he was feeling, because between one breath and the next the anger had bled out of the younger man's gaze and been replaced by the same exhaustion as before. His shoulders hunched and he dropped his head, giving it a small shake. Arthur grimaced at the reaction, slowly reaching forward and gripping John's shoulder - an anchor for them both.

"This ain't easy for me to say either," John grumbled under his breath after a few long moments. "He raised me too, brother. I owe him everything, same as you. But everything that's happened..."

"I know, "Arthur sighed, giving a dismissive wave with his free hand and pointedly staring off behind John as his eyes narrowed. "I think... He's overwhelmed an' just as scared as the rest of us. Hopefully this'll snap him outta his own head, make him start listenin' t' what we're sayin'. If not...well... "Arthur trailed off, giving John's shoulder a small, pointed squeeze as he dropped his hand. John didn't need to hear him finish the thought aloud, though, giving a short nod and meeting Arthur's gaze again.

"You're the one that's been around him recent. If you say there's a snowball's chance in hell we can salvage this mess, I trust you."

Those words, that trust, added another weight to Arthur's shoulders - a responsibility he wasn't sure he deserved. No matter how much he hoped and prayed that this last sliver of faith in Dutch wasn't misplaced, the fear that it would only see more people he cared about dead was ever-present. His fate wasn't in question. Regardless, he knew his road ended soon, but he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure the others had what they needed to continue on without him, as safe as feasibly possible. That way at least they had the opportunity to try and make normal lives for themselves.

"Arthur." The sharp tone John used made it evident that it wasn't the first time he'd attempted to get his attention, and Arthur quickly grunted and shook himself, looking back to John and trying not to seem as worn as he felt. By the concern in John's expression, he didn't do the best job. "You back with me?"

"Just thinkin' 'bout everything," Arthur said dismissively, flopping back down onto his bedroll with a quiet groan and closing his eyes. Thankfully John seemed content to leave that be for the time being, dropping his head to scratch through his hair absently.

After a stretch of silence he laid back down as well, much slower and more careful than Arthur had been, settling with a quiet hiss that escaped from behind clenched teeth. Arthur accommodated John without comment when the younger man collapsed against him again, hiding his face in Arthur's shoulder and digging his forehead into his collarbone. 

“Thank you.” 

The words were mumbled so quietly Arthur almost missed them. When they did eventually register, Arthur gave a small frown and coughed around another sigh. After a moment he pointedly closed his own eyes and snaked the arm John was already part laying on around the back of his shoulders, squeezing lightly.

“Go to sleep, Marston.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. Please feel free to give me your thoughts on this chapter. We'll be getting into a bit more action here soon. The next chapter will hopefully be up soon!


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